


But Needs Must as the Devil Drives

by RedHead



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (hence the archive warning for rape just to be on the safe side), (no one vitiates consent but the situation makes it impossible to give genuine consent), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Ignores Legends, Ignores Season 3, Light Angst, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Multi, Not Legends of Tomorrow Compliant, Polyamory, Post-Season/Series 02, Romance, Sex Curse, coldwestallen, no Flashpoint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 103,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHead/pseuds/RedHead
Summary: It’s just Len’s luck that magic is real. It’s just Barry’s luck that he got himself cursed. It’s just Iris’s luck that both of these idiots never do anything the easy way.





	1. Mortal Enemies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asexual-fandom-queen (writeordietrying)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeordietrying/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some non-linear storytelling because I wanted to give that a shot. The rest of the story will be a regular linear narrative.

“Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not entirely sure I _did_ , Miss West.”

Her arms were already crossed but she narrowed her eyes, hating all of this. “I _said_ that a witch cursed him.”

“A witch.”

“A witch.”

“Just so I’m clear on the details—”

“Magic is real.”

The man’s eyebrows were climbing higher and she made a scathing noise in the back of her throat. Iris got it, really, because she’d had the same conversation not altogether that long ago, dumbfounded at the prospect that _magic_ was real. Even after metahumans and everything else, it was ridiculous.

But right now, she didn’t have time for Leonard Snart’s awe.

“My my that _is_ fascinating—are we talking Disney magic or—”

“Don’t know, don’t care. We’re on the clock. Will you help him or not?”

He titled his head. “You know my team-ups with your _friends_ don’t always go so well. I’m sure you’ve heard?”

If only she hadn’t. There was lead in her stomach just being here in this dingy bar even without the knowledge that the last time Barry had really asked for this man’s help, he was betrayed. But he hadn’t let Barry die, and she was banking on hope that he wouldn’t now.

Especially not if he might be the only one able to make sure that didn’t happen. “This is different.”

“And why is that?”

She moved to say it and found she had to swallow around a sudden lump in her throat just to get it out. Goddammit. She pushed past it. “Because he’s dying.”

 

[ …]

 

“What’s in this for me?” were the first words out of Snart’s mouth when he met her at the entrance of STAR Labs, having arrived after her, going out of his way to collect his cold gun before showing up here. She hated him for wasting time. Every minute he delayed was more time Barry spent getting worse, suffering, overheating.

“What could you possibly even want, Snart?” She was moving in the direction of the cortex with him in step beside her, trying not to look too much at him. He’d put on his damn parka for the occasion and it was so ridiculous how little he was going to need it.

“Get out of jail free card might be nice.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “I’m sure.”

“You never did say why it was you who came to find me at Saints. I gather that Barry is—indisposed?” it wasn’t quite a question, but she hadn’t given him any answers yet either, “—but surely Cisco would’ve felt more at ease.”

For the first time since she’d steeled herself to do this, guilt pushed itself around and made its presence known in her gut. “Well that would be because…”

They stepped into the doorway of the cortex. The reaction didn’t take long.

“ _Ahh_!” Cisco halfway leaped where he was walking across the room carrying a tray of medical tools for Caitlin. The rest of their heads shot up.

“What the hell is _he_ doing here?!” her dad demanded, face twisted in anger in a second and Snart muttered something like ‘awkward’ even as she moved between them, hand going straight to her father’s shoulder.

“Hey—Dad it’s okay, hey—he’s here to help.”

“ _HIM_?!”

Not the reaction she was hoping for. She winced.

Cisco whistled. “I thought Barry said—”

She whipped her head in his direction—“Barry said he’d rather die than force someone but we should at least give Snart the _option_ , okay?”

“It really is our best shot,” Caitlin supplied and Iris shot her a grateful look. She was wringing her hands and looking as nervous as Iris felt.

“Best shot at _what_ I’m still waiting to hear,” Snart drawled, all suspicious expression as he glanced between them. Iris bit the inside of her lip, telling herself now was not the time to get flustered or stumble over the explanation.

Cisco caught her gaze with his own incredulous one. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him.”

“Tell me what?”

“ _Iris_!” that was her Dad.

“I just wanted to get him here so he could see for himself!”

“See _what_?” Snart was getting agitated and she sighed, but blessedly, Cisco took charge of that explanation.

“Barry’s condition.”

“Because he was cursed.”

“Yeah, man. Mega.”

“And this has what to do with me?”

“It’s actually not you _specifically_ ,” Caitlin replied, nose scrunched up. It was Iris’s turn to shoot someone an incredulous gaze because _really_?! “It’s more that you’re a ‘mortal enemy’ of his, but also someone we can trust.”

Iris watched Snart process that, eyebrows scrunched for a moment. “Not entirely sure Barry still considers me his ‘enemy’—even if he _ought_ to—so if that’s important for breaking the curse, you’re outta luck, kids.”

Cisco hopped up on a desk. “Yeah well our sorcerer friend—well, friend of a friend—said in spellcasting, ‘mortal’ here means someone who’s tried to kill him.”

“Ah.”

“’Ah’ my ass, Snart,” her dad grumbled, looking a little green around the gills. She didn’t blame him. But so long as he wasn’t going to do anything ridiculous like pull his gun, she could direct her attention at Snart.

Those gears were turning in his head again, she could see it on his face. Iris clasped her hands in front of her.

“Barry got cursed five days ago and we haven’t managed to track down the witch to break it. No vibes, nothing. He’s getting worse. Caitlin said he has…”

“I checked his vitals fifteen minutes ago. At the current rate of acceleration of his fever and symptoms, he has eight hours, _maybe_ twelve.”

“He has eight hours, Snart. You know we wouldn’t ask you for help unless it was our only option.” Behind her, her Dad snorted. She shot him a look. “Wouldn’t ask for help like _this_ if we had a better plan. You know we’ll pay you back so just say you’ll help break the curse.”

His eyes met hers and Iris didn’t realize until that moment how little eye contact he made because the sudden focus made her chest constrict. His eyes were intelligent and dangerous and something about that made this worse, somehow.

“I take it there’s a reason you haven’t told me what it takes to break this little ‘curse’ then?”

She lost the battle against her body. Her cheeks flushed. She cleared her throat and made sure to stand up straight because it wasn’t going to be easy to say. “You have to have sex with him.”

 

[ … ]

 

A witch. An honest-to-god bona-fide spellcasting curse-hurling puff-of-smoke _witch_.

It was not Barry’s wheelhouse. Especially not when he ran in unawares.

He did the best he could with it, Caitlin in his ear, Cisco desperately looking up information. She shouldn’t be hard to catch as soon as the noxious smoke and wind whipping around her subsided. He didn’t really want to wait though, siphoning the smoke away with a wind tunnel made from his arms. He wasn’t _quite_ prepared for a spell that had him running on the roof like gravity was turned upside down but he figured it out after a minute, sorted up from down. Dodged the literal _potion_ she threw his way once he caught up with her again.

All this over some _book_? Really?

“You know we could sit down and chat about this without all the—” she blasted fire in his direction and he narrowly dodged “—or we can do this the old-fashioned way!”

He stopped playing around. He sped into her space in the blink of an eye and caught her with both arms behind her back, trapped at the elbows so she couldn’t use her hands to conjure. “Got you now.”

“You’ll want to let me go,” she snarled, kicking out her feet, struggling. It wasn’t hard to deal with despite the heavy bag at her side, the book she was stealing more like a massive tome.

“Oh yeah—why’s that?”

In his ear, Cisco’s voice was excited—“ask her if she already has an alias.”

Barry huffed out a laugh, still holding on to her as she stilled, catching her breath for a second. The sirens outside the museum were blaring now, cops pulling up. “Last chance, Flash.”

“I think I’ll take my chances with getting you in custody.”

“Your funeral, pal,” she muttered, and then mumbled something that was definitely not English and a second later her arms shot out a blast of energy that threw him back against the wall, hard enough he could taste blood in his mouth.

“Barry!” that was Caitlin’s voice in his ear this time and he shook his head, standing up with a groan.

“You really don’t stay down, do you Lightning Boy?”

“Don’t know when to—”

Another blast caught him square in the chest and yeah, that one was his fault for chatting. He felt the heat of it this time and realized it was fire, just concentrated and explosive, but that wasn’t the worrisome part. The worrisome part was that she was chanting— _something_.

He really should’ve learned a second language.

He sped up, calling the speedforce to him against the onslaught, speeding out of the line of the blast but it was way, way too late. The fire followed him, lighting up to green, glowing and sickly and _licking_ his body in a way that felt like it was under the suit, consuming him. But it didn’t burn, and it wasn’t hot, and it was gone after a perplexed minute of him staring at it, feeling mesmerized by the green whorls and suffused with its light, entirely absorbed and distracted.

When it left his skin he found himself on his knees, panting in breaths, heard the cops rushing into the room but it didn’t matter. The girl was long gone with the book and Barry’s healing factor was already setting him to rights. He’d be gone in a second too.

“Freeze!” yelled some rookie cop at after her and Barry chuckled on his way out of the building, the command making him inexplicably think about Snart.

 

[ … ]

 

“You want me to _what_?” Len actually mimed sticking his pinky in his ear and twisting it around because there was no way he’d heard that correctly.

Iris looked unimpressed with him, but now he could see more of her terror shining through, that mask slipping a little. “To have sex with him. Intercourse.”

“Right,” he said, completely unsure what the hell else _to_ say. He managed to follow it up after a beat of silence with, “you’re serious.”

“I am.”

Iris was asking Len to sleep with her boyfriend. Because of a curse. From an actual witch. And he still wanted the details on that, let alone…

“And how is it that me doing the horizontal tango with Barry is going to help break this curse of his?”

She wrinkled her nose at his choice of euphemism but it was actually Cisco who answered.

“Magic is… weird, man. Not our regular deal. We’ve seen it, though, and Barry’s pretty sure…”

Len arched his eyebrow at the man. He cleared his throat and kept talking.

“Pretty sure it’s a sex thing. We looked up all the Latin from the incantation she hit him with and called up that friend of a friend I mentioned and yeah, it translates pretty much to ‘give yourself fully to your mortal enemy before the next half-moon or burn up from the inside out’.”

“Yeowch,” he drawled, deadpan. That really didn’t sound pleasant. It also said nothing about sex. “And you’re sure the cure is…coital?”

Iris and Cisco exchanged a look. “Barry said it had to be.”

Len wanted the details on that, but Caitlin was flipping through a chart and spoke quicker. “You have to understand, Snart—Barry’s body doesn’t have a single pathogen and his white blood cell count is totally normal. His fever’s crept up to a hundred and three in the past few hours and keeps climbing. He might be halfway delirious now but he’s been sure for days now that this is what he needs.”

And something that should’ve clicked much sooner fell into place. He had assumed from the fact that Barry wasn’t there and the fact that he was _literally cursed_ and how they were discussing him as having a ‘condition’ that he was indisposed, but he wasn’t even in the med bay next door. He wasn’t here and they were having a conversation about Len fucking him. And if his friends and _girlfriend_ were discussing it and not him…

He couldn’t keep the ice out of his voice as he quietly chastised, “now that’s just twisted—he’s in that condition and you want me to _sleep_ with him, Doctor?”

Caitlin wrung her hands. Cisco looked down. Iris looked pained. Pained but determined. Had to hand it to her.

“He’s going to die if you don’t.”

“Not exactly enthusiastic consent.”

She didn’t rise to the bait but instead nodded, features tight. “I know. It’s not any of our decision to make but yours.”

His eyebrows went up. “Don’t you mean _Barry’s_?”

She exchanged a glance with Cisco and Caitlin and looked back at him. “I told Barry I’d do whatever it took to save his life. This is it. He told _me_ he didn’t want to cheat on me, and didn’t want to…” she paused to steel herself. “Force you.”

“Force me.”

“Coercion,” West muttered, finally reentering the conversation instead of glaring at Len and glowering at everyone else. Len was honestly a little surprised he wasn’t threatening murder. “I assume that’s why no one mentioned this little plan to me either?”

“Barry didn’t want you to know he was even considering sleeping with Snart.”

This was new information on a few fronts. Barry had selected _him_ specifically. Barry was worried Len would feel forced into agreeing. Barry was…

“Where is he?”

Cisco provided a full-body cringe. “He’s uh… he’s in the pipeline.”

“He’s _what_?!” That was West. The only good thing about this was how obvious it was that West was as out of the loop as Len on a few fronts.

“It was… his idea?”

“ _Why_? I thought he was back at his apartment!”

“He hasn’t been himself,” Iris answered. “When the fever got worse, he was worried he wouldn’t be able to control himself.” She glanced at Len out of the corner of her eye. “That he might do something drastic. Something he’d regret.”

He could picture it, almost. A fever-high Barry in the Flash suit speeding him out of Saints and straight to somewhere remote, all lightning and desperation in his eyes. It wasn’t _Barry_ because Barry would never do that, but the Flash was a terrifying whirlwind to anyone who hadn’t seen under the mask and Len shivered at the thought anyway.

“Show me.”

Cisco pulled up a feed on the screen. Barry was laying down, sweatpants but no shirt, it was bunched up under his head like a pillow (didn’t those cells have _beds_?) shaking and covered in a sheen of sweat. There was a stack of empty bottles of water nearby.

“Cisco what the hell?!” West all but shouted and Caitlin stepped in front her friend.

“It’s a temperature-controlled environment—”

“It’s a prison cell!”

“He asked to be put there!”

“ _Enough_!” Iris shouted into what looked to be an explosive argument. “ _Enough_.”

She had fire in his eyes and Len felt his stomach tighten. Her eyes were only for him. “Will you do it?”

As if he really had a choice.

 

[ … ]

 

Caitlin had cleared his vitals after the glowing green flames, but Barry couldn’t get rid of the niggling sensation that something was… _off._ He didn’t know what or how, just that it was.

Or maybe he was just hoping. Because he was starting to feel stressed out about it.

It had been three days since he ran into the woman at the museum (no trace of her since) and he kept waking up each night in a sweat from dreams that he absolutely did not want to tell anyone about. For one, they embarrassingly pornographic. For two, they were all with his _enemies_ —everyone from Snart and Rory to Killer Frost to Eobard (and didn’t that make him feel nauseated when he woke up). For three, they were… weird. He didn’t know how else to put it. All the dreams had him bizarrely… supplicant? Submissive? Eager to please, to feed grapes into Rory’s mouth, to kiss Frost’s shoes, to beg for Thawne’s mercy.

It made his skin crawl, for the most part. He woke up with a raging erection each time but the memory of the dreams was like a cold bucket of ice water a minute later.

The first night had been Mardon and Eobard, the second Frost, and this past night was Snart and Rory. At least that one wasn’t so bad, didn’t make him feel sick with dread, but that wasn’t really a good thing, because it lingered with him then.

Three days in a row was something. And it didn’t stop at dreams.

He kept feeling hot under the collar all day. He was used to a pretty active libido but he’d already _had_ sex in the morning that day, with Iris, since his body was still turned on and frustrated from his dreams. It had been nothing to roll over in the morning and kiss her neck, mumble sweet nothings in her ear to help chase away his own demons, and have her laugh and make a comment about being late for work before rolling on top of him.

He really shouldn’t be feeling horny again an hour later. Or so _warm_.

Was his lab always this warm?

He went to STAR Labs after work, not ready to talk about the dreams but wanting to make sure his vitals were fine. Which they were. Except.

Caitlin frowned, tilting her head at the read out.

“What is it?”

“Your temperature.”

“Too hot?”

She glanced at him. “You know?”

“I’ve been running hot all day.”

She frowned again. “You seem to have a… fever?”

Then it was more tests. Nothing showed up. Cisco suggesting it was the witch’s doing before Barry got around to bringing up the possibility. Barry’s overwhelming sense of relief when Cisco said he could call up Hartley to translate the recording of her spell that the comms had picked up.

And then the dread hit him, hearing what the translation said.

“Barry? You’re white as a sheet, dude.”

His throat was dry as sandpaper. “So I—uh, I’ve been having… dreams.”

 

[ … ]

 

“Will he be lucid?”

He had to ask it, even though the question made his stomach turn, even though Len knew it didn’t matter. If it was life and death, it didn’t really matter.

“Should be,” was all Cisco supplied.

He’d turned the cameras off already without speaking over the intercom to Barry about their plan, so Len felt a little like he was flying blind here.

“Just uh… text me when you’re done.” He gave Len his number.

“Got it.”

They turned a corner into a short hall with what looked like a giant, bright tank-like door. He knew this was the cell.

“You know you can’t bring the cold gun in there, right?”

Len arched an eyebrow, almost amused for a moment. “You really think I’d leave it with you?”

Cisco put a hand over his heart, “I’m wounded.”

“I won’t ice him, Cisco.”

“Yeah but you won’t need it, Snart. Not with these.” He pulled something out the bag of ‘supplies’ he’d gathered on the way down here. A pair of heavy-duty cuffs, a serious bar in place that would hold the wearer’s wrists hard together. Len arched an eyebrow. “You’ll want them.”

“He’s dying of a fever ‘n you think I need cuffs?”

“You know he’s made of tougher stuff, Cold. And he’s not really himself right now. Just… trust me.”

Len didn’t like the sound of that at all, a chill going down his spine. Cisco was already pressing buttons on a side panel though and the door was sliding back. Len hadn’t helped physically move the metahumans the one time he’d seen these cells before, had let Barry do that, so it was arresting to see, really, the confined space.

He hated prisons.

But as promised, Barry was lucid. Or, somewhat. He didn’t move but groaned at the intrusion even though the glass door was still closed.

“Go _away_ Caitlin.”

“Hey buddy. Brought a friend.”

“A—” Barry was up against the glass in an instant—regular instant, not speedster instant—hands pressed to it. “Snart.”

He seemed to sway, then, catching himself on a rail somewhere in there. Len tightened his jaw, feeling a little sick.

“Hello Barry.”

“Snart, you— _fuck_.” It was, apparently, all he could say. His gaze caught Len and it was a mix of forlorn and angry and desperate, dark circles under eyes that were a little too glassy. Cisco dropped the cuffs into a panel on the side and they rolled into Barry’s cell.

“You gotta put those on, man.”

Len looked away, almost unable to help it. He took the moment to unholster his cold gun from his leg and set it against a wall. “Don’t even _think_ about moving it,” he directed at Cisco. The man put up his hands in mock-innocence.

“You got it.”

“Please…” Barry’s voice carried through the glass, looking every bit as fevered and high as he purportedly was. Len took a second to study it, had never seen him remotely like this, hair askew and stuck at odd angles, far too wet with sweat, flushed red cheeks, lips red and swollen. And hard. His sweatpants were doing nothing to disguise the tent.

“Anything else I should know, Cisco?”

For the first time seemingly all evening, Cisco got serious. It happened in the space of an instant. Suddenly he was taller, colder, more capable. Len tensed.

“If you hurt my friend I’ll kill you.”

Oh. Well. Len refrained from snorting because he was pretty sure Cisco would think he wasn’t taking him seriously. He was. It was just that the idea that he would hurt Barry in this state was ludicrous, but not even so ludicrous as the fact that Barry’s friends were _asking_ him to hurt Barry in this state, really. Had come and begged Len to rape him.

He had no illusions about what this was.

“Got it.”

Cisco told Barry to step to the back of the cell, and after he obliged with a furrowed brow, pressed a button and the door opened. Len stepped inside. He’d complained about doing this here in STAR Labs—there were a thousand reasons not to—but they’d each had protests: the time it would take to go somewhere else, Barry’s safety in this vulnerable state, _Len’s_ safety if they let Barry out where he could use his speed. He should’ve picked up more on that last one, hadn’t taken it seriously until Cisco brought out the cuffs.

At least he’d extracted promises from them all about the degree to which they owed him for this utter bullshit.

“ _Snart_.” Barry’s voice was irreverent.

The door closed behind them, locking him in. He hated that feeling. It was surprisingly cool in here, no doubt for the fever, but he still felt himself start to sweat at the confines.

He didn’t have a second to contemplate it though. As soon as the door clicked, Barry was on him. His cuffed hands grabbed fistfuls along the front of Len’s jacket and he slammed their lips together in an embrace that was more painful than alluring. He pulled back but Barry was dogged, desperate, gasping against Len’s lips and kissing him again.

He grabbed Barry by the arms and shoved him off—hard. But he forgot how weak Barry was in this state, how small the space was.

He fell back against the wall, hard against the other side of the cell and his whole body shuddered and his knees didn’t bother to hold him up, crumpling on the ground. Fuck.

“Barry—”

He sat up and stretched out his legs, inviting. “ _Please_ —”

“Think you can follow directions?”

He shuddered and swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “ _Yes._ ”

Len nodded. “Then sit tight for a moment.”

The man _whined_ but didn’t try to stand and Len eyed him for a second before reaching for the bag that had dropped to the ground. Water bottles, protein bars (really, Cisco?), lube, condoms, and an honest to god set of latex gloves. Len snorted at those but grabbed out a condom and the lube, tossing them down next to Barry.

Barry’s eyes never left him. They were hungry. His lips were parted. If he wasn’t cursed, the turned on panting and taught muscles, holding himself back, that would be sexy as hell. Cuffed and uncaring with his legs splayed out along the ground before him, cock obviously aching, straining up against the fabric of his pants—just looking at him was doing something to Len.

And yet.

This was a medical treatment more than a hook-up.

“Get on your knees.”

Barry offered him a half-second of a crooked smile before he was in front of Len, this time on his knees, working at Len’s belt. _Christ._

He got a hand in Barry’s hair and the man moaned but that wasn’t the plan, not at all, and Len used his grip to tug Barry’s head _away_ from where he was already mouthing over Len’s growing hard-on inside his black jeans. He was fast even without his speed.

“Not that. _Hands_ and knees. Elbows. Figure it out.”

Barry looked up at him under those long lashes like the picture of sex. His _lips_. Fuck. Len bit back the growl in his throat when Barry’s tongue darted out to wet those lips. His hands curled against the fabric over Len’s thighs, inching up, rubbing over their target when he didn’t protest quick enough.

“Wanna make—god I wanna make you feel good, Snart.” Barry’s throat let out a pleased rumble and he pushed his head forward against the grip in his hair. Len tightened it. “ _Fuck_ ,” his hand rubbed more urgently, “make you moan. Make your every wish come true and suck your co—”

“ _Knees_ — _now_!”

Barry whined again but his hands dropped he finally moved to oblige. Len dropped the grip on his hair and stepped back, taking a second to collect himself, chest not loosening even a little. Christ. He didn’t regret the cuffs anymore.

He made the mistake of glancing at Barry and—why had Len picked this position, again? He was _presenting_. Ass up, back arched, obscene. Len swallowed and looked away. This was too much for Len to even tease him about it, the other man so out of it it wouldn’t be funny.

“Stay there.”

Another whine but whatever, not Len’s problem. He shucked his jacket but kept his long-sleeved shirt on and dropped to his own knees behind Barry, reaching for the lube. Barry’s ass was right in front of him. He tried not to think about that but it was hard to think about anything else, really, pulling down the man’s sweatpants.

He wasn’t wearing underwear. Perfect.

“ _Please_ , Snart—”

“Not gonna waste any time teasing, Barry.”

That got him a new sound, or maybe that was because Len had a slick finger against his entrance. Barry’s legs widened and he got himself all the way out of his pants. Len tried not to think about how he was naked. Tried not to stare at all his smooth, unblemished skin, tried not to stare at the pucker of his hole, greedily fluttering where Len’s finger was pressed to it.

He slid it in.

Barry _moaned_. He spread himself wider, arched back on it. He was relaxed enough that Len pressed another inside. He really was burning up, hotter than he should be even here, and that helped ground Len for a moment.

Barry was begging before two minutes had passed. For more, for Len, for this, for his cock. Len pressed a third finger inside to a hiss and then an immediate, desperate thrust back, another demand for _more more more_ and Len gave up. He was ready. He didn’t need this prep. He’d heal away however sore his insides felt anyway.

And Len was going to snap if he had to hear Barry beg any longer.

He couldn’t believe how hard he was, pulling himself out, pushing his pants around his thighs. He was leaking already and Barry’s moans were sending warmth pooling through him. He swallowed against how dry his throat suddenly felt, rolling on the condom and adding extra lube for good measure, slicking himself and taking Barry’s hip in his slippery hand.

This was all going so fast. To think his day was boring and _normal_ before Iris waltzed into Saints.

“Ready?” his own voice was shot.

“God yes, please, yes yes yes yes _yessss_ —”

He shouldn’t know the sound Barry makes when being penetrated, but he did now, and the greedy part of him coveted the knowledge, filing it away, tucking it deep. The moan resonated right from his chest when Len’s cock stretched him out and pressed against his prostate.

“Barry,” he gasped, that tight heat convulsing around him.

“Ple—ah— _ahh—_ ” Barry shuddered and the heat constricted, spasming and—there was no way—

“Fuck, Barry,” Len started to thrust, feeling the inside of Barry clamping down on him—hot tight wet slick yes—in waves. “Did you just cum?”

Barry answered with a moan, pressing himself back on Len’s cock, taking it deeper. That wasn’t a yes or a no but it didn’t matter, really. Len held onto his hips and drove in, set a pace, thrusting hard and fast to reach a finish line he was pretty sure would be arriving all too fast, not wanting to drag this out and now more than sure he wouldn’t have to.

Barry’s moans echoed throughout the tiny space and Len let himself get drunk on them, focused on the heat of Barry’s body, how fucking _good_ he felt around Len’s cock. He let himself get lost in it, watching his cock slide in and out of Barry’s body, his greedy tight hole. Barry was begging again and it took him a second to notice—

“ _—me please touch me please touch me please Snart_ —fuck _!—please—_ ”

Len swore, hand slipping on Barry’s hip, wrapping around. Barry was on his elbows, cuffed hands in front of him, powerless under Len’s thrusts with his legs spread wide, just _taking_ it. God. His cock was slippery when Len got his hand on it and he didn’t know what Barry liked but doubted that it mattered, grip tight to counteract the slick, pulling long strokes in time with his thrusts.

Barry came with a shout thirty seconds later. Len swore again and pressed his hand—covered in Barry’s cum—onto the back of his neck, holding him down, gripping his hip too tight with his other hand and he hammered his hips in. He pushed hard, fucking into Barry’s too-willing body, sheathing himself in the impossible heat, how tight Barry was, just this side of too-tight, over and over and over. Lost sight of the time, the seconds, just focused on the sounds Barry made, the desperate gasps, past begging now, non-verbal and muscles rippling under each thrust, gasping. Len was chasing it, feeling it and—

 _Fuck_.

He felt it take him, gasped then let it out and just groaned, emptying himself, feeling it surge in waves as his eyes rolled back. It went on, hot and pulsing, and he kept shuddering for too long, really, before his body finally collapsed into a state of relaxation.

He let out a long breath, a sated shiver, and pulled out.

 

[ … ]

 

“Barr?” Iris called, stepping into their apartment.

“Kitchen!” he called back, smelling the stew he was laboring over and wondering if it had enough pepper. For Iris’s tastes… probably not.

“Barry Allen—” uh oh “—why did Cisco just call me to ask me to convince you to talk to me about your ‘little witch problem’?”

Barry’s eyebrows drew together in frustration. Dammit Cisco.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Barr…” now she sounded worried. Great. He tossed the wooden spoon back into the stew and turned around to face her, trying to sort out the anger creeping around his chest at Cisco’s violation.

“It’s nothing, Iris. You know I’m hunting down a witch—I told you that a few days ago. It’s just about that.”

She pursed her lips but whatever she saw in his face, she went from angry to worried again. “You need to be honest with me. You’ve been acting weird since yesterday and you’ve been up with dreams all week—”

“You noticed?” his heart hammered in his chest, guilt crushing inside.

“I always notice when you can’t sleep, Barr.”

She looked so concerned he had to gather her up in his arms and kiss her hair, hating that he was the reason she was worried, hating that the truth was only going to make her worry more. She hugged him tight but didn’t let him divert her, pulled back before he could settle into the embrace, into any excuses.

“Tell me.”

“It’s… a curse.”

And then it was an explanation, halting, unable to meet her eyes as they sat on the couch, knees knocking together. He told her about the fever and she pressed a worried hand to his forehead, gasping when she noticed the heat. He mentioned the distractions it was creating, how hard it was to focus at work, how his hands would sometimes tremble on his implements. His inability all day that day to think through his haze and file a single report. He didn’t give her any details about the dreams, didn’t dare mention who all was in them except to drop Eobard’s name so she knew how much he didn’t _want_ these dreams but she didn’t look jealous at all, only worried.

“How many days…?”

“The next half moon is in two days.”

“Barry!”

“I know, Iris—I _know_.” He looked away. “It keeps getting worse. Accelerating. I was mostly fine yesterday. I don’t know what I’ll be like by tomorrow.”

Her eyes were wet with tears. “Is that why you wanted this big dinner in tonight, just us?”

He nodded, a little ashamed. He should’ve told her and he knew it.

“Why don’t…” she stopped and swallowed. Her hands were shaking when they took his. “What are you going to do?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. Oliver has a sorcerer friend and he explained—a curse can’t be broken by just anyone, so he can’t help. He’s on the other side of the world right now and said he’s try to make it over but something about demons and hell, so…”

“The witch might be long gone, out of the city.”

“Yeah.”

“And Caitlin and Cisco…”

“It’s magic, not science. Cisco keeps saying that magic is just science we don’t understand yet but… we really don’t understand this, or how to fix it.”

“So who are you…”

His eyes snapped up to hers. “What? Iris— _no_. I’m not gonna—”

“it’s just sex, Barry! It’s not worth your life!”

“I won’t cheat on you!”

“ _Cheat_? Barry this isn’t cheating—it’s survival!”

He swallowed, throat thick. She was right. He knew it, she knew it. He was sure he would have to convince her if he went that route, sure he might lose her for this, but of course she was already three steps ahead.

“I love you.”

She deflated, “I love you too—that’s why I don’t want you to die over this.”

“Iris I—I _can’t_. There’s only one ‘mortal enemy’ I have who wouldn’t try to kill me the second he had power over me and even then—I can’t force someone to sleep with me.”

“It’s life and death!”

“That’s the problem! That’s not consent, Iris! Even if he does it, he shouldn’t have to.”

“ _Who_ , Barry?”

He looked at his lap, taking his hands back, guilt returning to his gut, churning around in circles. The man he couldn’t stop thinking about all day once his brain fixated on him as a solution to his problem. The man he dreamt about _again_ last night in positions that made his ears burn.

“Snart.”

 

[ … ]

 

That… had really just happened. Len pulled in air in the suddenly too hot and tight little cell, disbelief roiling away inside him as the sense of urgency abated.

After a moment, reorienting to focus, he stood with a pop to his knees and a groan of an entirely different kind, body sore from the strain and tension, the hard ground. “You better not die after that.”

On the floor of the cell, laying on his side, crumpled by exhausted and eyes closed as if most of the way asleep, Barry laughed. “No kidding.”

It sounded normal, if raspy, and Len felt himself relax by another dozen fractions. He tied off the condom and put himself away while Barry rolled onto his back and sat up, flushed but looking less…delirious.

“Panel at your back should call up the garbage shoot.”

Panel? Len turned and found the spot in the wall that gave way to the panel and a nice digital display of options. One of them was a bed. He scowled at it and pressed the button for garbage and the one that looked like a sink.

These cells were ridiculous. A sink slotted out from the wall and a garbage did as well.

“Cisco’s designs are either genius or monstrous.”

“Convenient’s the word I would use.”

Len hummed and washed his hands, keeping his back to Barry. The man didn’t appear to be in a hurry to move.

He pulled out his phone, typing. “I’ll let Cisco know we’re done.”

“Snart, uh…”

Nope. Didn’t want to talk about it. Preferably ever. He shot Barry a look and noticed that the man was cleaning himself off (there was jizz all over his torso, naturally) with his discarded t-shirt. Len arched an eyebrow.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Ever. Please.

His phone rang in his hand. “Cisco, done.”

“Oh sweet—like done done? Can I turn on the camera—is he okay—how is he—how is—”

“He’s naked, lucid, and I wanna get out of this cell, so do what you want with the camera but get down here.”

Barry yelped and started hopping into his pants at the mention of cameras. Len averted his gaze.

It didn’t take Barry long to be dressed again. Well, from the waist-down. He curled his lip at his own t-shirt, not that he would be able to get it on with those cuffs in place.

“There’s some on your back.”

“What?”

“Cum.”

They were both standing, now. Barry still had messy hair (almost soaked, really) and sweat all over him, still a bright flush to his cheeks, but they met eyes and it made all the difference. They were clear and so open, so bright and embarrassed and just—

Len looked away. “Just turn around. I’ll get it.”

Barry handed him the shirt and turned. The not-talking about it was going swimmingly as Len swiped cum off the back of Barry’s neck and Barry shivered. He dropped the shirt to the ground and stepped back.

“Thanks.” His voice had a distinct croak to it now. Len resolved not to feel anything one way or the other about having stroked Barry to completion, unnecessary for his curse.

Instead of responding, he stared at the wall with his arms crossed, willing Cisco to hurry.

Barry turned to face him, “and thank you for… this.”

Len was saved from answering by the outer door of the cell swinging open. “Bout time.”

And ah. Iris was there with Cisco. Naturally.

“Barr?”

“I’m fine—I’m good, it’s—”

Her eyes were shining with unshed tears of joy. Cisco was giving them the thumbs up, elated, opening the door. It wasn’t a moment before Barry and Iris were wrapped up in each other, hugging hard even with the awkwardness of the cuffs. Len hurried past them and to his cold gun, sliding it back in its holster. Cisco eyed him while Iris and Barry were whispering away. “You coming back to the cortex?”

“Pretty sure you can take it from here. Let him know he owes me.” He didn’t wait for a reply, left without waiting or looking back. He needed a stiff drink, stat.

He needed something to help erase the sounds Barry made when he came from the inside of his skull. Those sounds weren’t his to hold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a multi-chaptered work. That angsty end-line is not the end, and we haven’t seen the last of our witch, nor have we seen the last of Barry’s curse ;)
> 
> So stay tuned. There's more smut on the way, a good deal of angst, and now that we're in the thick of it, the story won't have such a breakneck pace probably. I really wanted to establish the premise fast though so that I could get to the 'meat' of the storytelling I wanted to do with it (and not just smut haha, but that too).
> 
> As always, comments are love <3


	2. Moon Cycles

Barry woke up slowly, tossing and turning, the dream lulling him in deeper, deeper, and then it would be too real and he’d misplace all the details, knowing it was lie, waking before being pulled back into unconsciousness. He was sucking off Leonard, the man naked and standing before him, carding his hands into Barry’s hair and telling him how good he was, how sweet his mouth was. Barry was wearing a _collar_ , flushed with pride, flushed with _something_ and he started to awaken again, the insistent throbbing of his cock enough to pull him closer to the surface this time, to almost blink and realize—

The sweat on his skin turned cold.

He sat up in bed, breathing as if he’d just run a marathon, shivering in the morning light.

Iris rolled over in her sleep, mumbly. “Nn? Hm? Mm-Barr?” she finally got out, then blinked up at him while he got himself under control, calming down.

“Hey, morning. I’m just gonna grab a shower and—”

She caught his wrist on his way out of the bed, leaning up on her other elbow. “Barr?”

He sighed, sitting with his legs over the edge, facing away. “Just a dream, Iris.”

“Was it a nightmare. Or a…”

He combed his fingers through his hair with an aborted laugh. “Kinda one and the same when you’re having sex dreams about your enemies…”

He didn’t want to lie but he had to look away, the admonition a little too much. She moved to sit behind him, planting a kiss on his shoulder before wrapping her arms loose around him. “It was just a dream though, right?”

“Yeah.” He cupped her arm, relaxing into her touch. “Definitely. We broke the curse, remember?”

Because he remembered. Vividly. And had told her he didn’t want to talk about it. Not because it had messed him up—almost too much the opposite, really—but because he was fine, genuinely, and didn’t need to share the illicit details of him sleeping with someone else with her. That went for sex dreams too, as far as he as concerned.

“Yeah.” She smoothed his hair. “Okay. Go shower, I don’t want to make you late for work.”

He turned and captured her lips in a kiss, stomach fluttering a little, which still happened sometimes even now, just amazed he got to have this with her still.

 

[ … ]

 

He headed straight to STAR Labs the second he was done work. He could feel it, the beginnings of heat building in his chest, just like before. He told himself it was in his head, but it wouldn’t do any good to avoid it in case it wasn’t. He didn’t want to land in the same position he’d been in before.

It had only been four days. Three, really. Four days ago he was in the pipeline and…

He felt shame pricking up his neck and he fought it down. Not at what happened, but how he was during it, so completely out of control. And that was just it—it was the curse. And it wasn’t that bad. He kept telling himself that. Snart wasn’t holding it over his head, hadn’t even teased him. Just because he spent the whole time _begging_ wasn’t really a reflection on him, even if it had felt just like him at the time, even if he’d felt totally at peace in his desire. So long as Snart never brought it up, he could survive the humiliation he felt inside about the whole damn thing.

He pushed the thoughts aside and entered the cortex.

“Hey Barr!” Cisco called when he saw him, all grins around a lollipop, “good news! Those color-corrective goggles I made for the cops? Worked! Some rookies cornered Bivolo this afternoon and—bam! Took charge—no effect of his powers.”

Barry tried to muster a smile. It was good news, of course. “Yeah, Joe mentioned. It’s good to hear. Hey, Caitlin,” he nodded to the med room, “you got a sec?”

She blinked owlishly at him over the notes she was reading. “Of course.”

He dodged Cisco’s curious look and followed her into the med room, watching as she instinctually moved toward her medical table, already bringing it over.

“What’s going on?” she asked, clinical calm already in place.

“Just—wanna make sure, you know? That the fever’s totally gone.”

She frowned, pulling out an ear thermometer, latex gloves on. “Are you feeling hot?” She pressed his head gently to the side, tilting it for access as it pressed into the canal and he frowned, hearing it click.

“I’m sure it’s in my head. Just—”

“Let me get an oral one. This says you’re hot but I want to be sure.”

He swallowed. Fuck. She had him press it under his tongue and he waited, impatient, almost ready to buzz but he didn’t want the speedforce to interrupt the reading. Cisco was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and looking a little worried but trying to hide it.

“Still hot,” Caitlin frowned when it beeped and she pulled it out of his mouth. “Just the beginnings of a fever, only a few degrees off but you didn’t have one two days ago.”

His stomach clenched and so did his hands on the edge of the med bed. “Why is this happening? I thought we broke the curse?”

“Maybe there’s more to it?” Cisco suggested and Caitlin turned to him.

“You think we missed something?”

“Snart did say something about how Barry doesn’t see him as an enemy anymore, right?”

Barry frowned, “Constantine said it wouldn’t matter, so long as it was someone who tried to kill me before.”

Caitlin pursed her lips, “can we really trust a _sorcerer_ on the other side of the world?”

“If Snart wouldn’t work, why would he be in my dreams?”

Cisco rubbed his forehead. The lollipop was long gone, his serious face out. “Okay, maybe the issue wasn’t Snart. What else could it be?”

“I’m gonna try to track down the witch again. Any leads at all.”

“Barry…” Caitlin had her Disapproving face on. “We have _no_ leads on that front. She’s still blocking Cisco’s vibes and she hasn’t stolen anything since that book.”

“So maybe we track the book? What was it called again?”

“The Lost Book of Samael,” Cisco answered. “Who is either an archangel or maybe the devil, depending on what you read.”

“As in… bible angel?”

Cisco lifted his hands in surrender. “You got me, man. But I’m pretty sure witchcraft is blasphemy. Oooh—think we can call her The Blashpemer?”

Caitlin shook her head, “not the time, Cisco.”

“Come _on_.”

“I’m gonna research this book,” Barry said, moving to hop off the medical table.

“Ah ah, not until I run some more tests, you’re not. Cisco can google the book and give Constantine a call for advice in the meantime.”

 

[ … ]

 

Nothing turned up before dinnertime, and dinnertime was at Joe’s house.

He met Iris at home to drive over and didn’t say anything about the renewed curse on the way. He was impatient the whole drive, leg shaking, but asked about Iris’s day and the new story she was working on, how excited she was that Linda was going to be coming back to the CCPN now that the dust had settled after Zoom.

Zoom… Barry could scarcely believe it had only been not even a full four months since him. The city was still dusting itself off in the wake of all that devastation, and it all seemed like a million years ago and just yesterday. Just yesterday sitting on the porch outside Joe’s and kissing Iris for the second ‘first’ time and feeling his half-baked thoughts of running back in time wither in the light of her smile.

He’d lost so much, but had so much to look forward to, too.

He looked at that porch where they shared that first kiss as they pulled up, a little smile on his lips. Outside, he pulled Iris in for a kiss before they went inside. She giggled, bright and beautiful as ever in his arms.

“Glad you finally got used to kissing at this house,” she teased.

“I was getting used to it before.”

“Mhmm,” she let him nuzzle her neck a little, “and that’s why you were in such a rush for us to get our own place?”

It was true. They’d just moved into their own apartment a few weeks ago, but god it made life easier. “There’s other perks from that.”

“Oh yeah?”

He kissed her neck, “don’t tell me you don’t like how loud we can get.”

She let out a startled laugh and pulled back, swatting him on the arm. “Don’t start or we’ll never make it inside for dinner. And I _don’t_ want Dad or Wally to come outside looking for us and we’re doing it in the car.”

He waggled his eyebrows but was laughing. It was a terrible idea but it was nice to joke about, a needed distraction. He followed her inside the house, greeting Joe with a half hug, smiled at Wally and asked him how school was going. For a few minutes, things felt normal.

 

[ … ]

 

Things did not feel normal. He woke up in a hot sweat, achingly hard. He sat up and glanced at the clock. Four in the morning.

Fuck.

The dream had been so _vivid_ —Snart kissing him, more like licking his mouth, hand on his jaw, and Rory holding him from behind, keeping his arms back, fucking into him—

His cheeks were still flushed. Having actually had sex with a man now—at least that type of sex, finally, something more intense than his college era fumblings—the feelings in his dream were so much more intense than before.

“Barr?”

He was sitting up and Iris touched his arm. He swallowed. “I… need to call Caitlin and Cisco.”

 

[ … ]

 

It was 6am and Caitlin’s medical exam said that his fever was definitely getting worse. Pretty much following the exact same trajectory as before, a little faster maybe.

“Why is it back?” Iris was gnawing on her thumb, worried, and Barry wished he had an answer for her.

“Any leads on that book, Cisco?” he asked instead of trying to find an answer.

“Nada. Well, I mean, I learned about it. It’s some old tome that dates back like eight hundred years which is why it was part of this medieval exhibition. It’s got some connection to the Christian Church and the crusades and all that, but the big part is really that it’s supposed to be some special tome for ‘users of the Dark Arts’ and all that.”

“Did you call Constantine?” he was glad the fever hadn’t melted into that haze he’d had last time, that constant sense of distraction and fantasy and an itch under his skin he couldn’t scratch. He didn’t doubt that it was just a matter of time though.

“No answer,” Caitlin offered. “Oliver said he might be undercover somewhere.”

“Oliver?” Iris asked and Barry winced. Whoops. “Oliver as in Oliver Queen?”

“Uh. Yeah.” He scratched the back of his head. “Friends with a sorcerer, who knew.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Barr…”

“Just, don’t tell him I told you he’s the Arrow, okay?”

“ _Oh my god_ —”

“Focus,” Cisco chided with a sly grin at her. Barry was rolling his eyes heavenward. “It’s a shame that time he shot with arrows wouldn’t count as him trying to kill you. Wait, would it?”

“He did _what_?!” Iris was appropriately scandalized and Barry winced.

“Pretty sure it doesn’t count, no. He wasn’t trying to kill me. Just stop me. And train me.”

“He shot you full of arrows?”

“He knew I could heal.”

Iris crossed her arms indignantly and Barry wondered if her crush on Oliver had just deflated. He actually huffed out a laugh.

“So we’re back to Snart,” Caitlin brought the mood back down.

Barry started to sweat. “What about… Hartley?”

They all blinked at him. Cisco tilted his head. “He’s never tried to kill you, dude? I mean, not really?”

Right. Not in this timeline. “No one else knows my face, huh.”

“Henry Hewitt does?” Caitlin wrinkled her nose after saying it.

“Who?” Iris asked.

“Firestorm-lite. And no. Definitely no. Last resort. Less than last. I don’t trust that guy as far as I can throw him.”

“And you trust Snart?” Caitlin asked, a little incredulous.

He didn’t want to answer that, felt the start of a headache forming. He realized they were all looking at him in varying degrees of trepidation. “I’m going witch-hunting. We’re not calling Snart until this evening. I still have to work today.”

 

[ … ]

 

Leonard frowned at the phone buzzing on his table. He seldom got calls, and if it wasn’t Lisa, it wasn’t a good sign.

He pulled it over to him and cursed at the number. Why the hell had he given Cisco his _actual_ phone number again? Dammit.

He answered. “This better be good, Cisco.”

“He-ey, Cold. How’s it going?”

If they were in the same room, Len would give him a perfectly flat stare. “This better not be a social call.”

“No! Uh, no, it’s not. Y’know that thing you helped us with last week? Well! It’s back.”

“It’s… back.” Could curses _come_ back? That shouldn’t be how a curse worked. Then he rolled his eyes at himself because Disney movies and Hollywood were probably not accurate sources for curse information.

“Back. Yeah.”

“So Barry is…”

“Not as bad, but… heading in that direction. Again.”

His temples started to throb. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Can you, uh, swing by the lab?”

He felt his chest starting to tighten. “Cisco…”

“Not for—not for _that_. Sorry dude, I mean for like, a conversation. We wanna figure out what went wrong with breaking it.”

He relaxed slightly but not much, and nodded once even as he replied, “I’ll be there soon.”

This was not what he had in mind for his night. Another nonconsensual roll in the hay with Barry was only going to reopen the mental box he’d shoved far into an unvisited corner of his mind and bound up tight. He took a shot of whiskey before he left the house, pulling on his leather jacket and strapping on his cold gun because hell, why not. Belly of the beast, even if they owed him.

It was frustrating, if he let himself think about it, how familiar the cortex was becoming. He hadn’t been here a lot, but it was enough. Thankfully, no Joe West this time, only his daughter along with the scientists. And Barry, leaning against one of the small desks near the display that held his suit. They were debating something when Len entered…                                             

“… waxing gibbous right now so we should have weeks until it’s half again?”

“No it’s only supposed to be seven days for each quarter cycle so maybe half is each new or lost half?”

“What the hell is a waxing gibbous?” Len asked, titling his head from the doorway.

Barry’s eyes snapped to him first and Len didn’t miss the way his body stiffened. He redirected his attention at Cisco, who’d first used the word.

“Moon phase. It’s what the moon is right now, like three quarts full.”

“Ah.” He entered a few steps, casually stopping to lean against a table and cross his arms. Caitlin frowned at him.

“Like I was saying, it might be every quarter moon cycle.”

Iris shook her head, “that means this will happen every _week_.”

Len didn’t like the sound of that. “Care to share with the class, kids?”

Iris glanced at Barry, who was looking frustrated and anywhere but at Len, so she turned back to him. “We’re trying to figure out the… frequency of this curse, and what we missed.”

“’N you’re sure it’s back?” he drawled.

“We’re sure,” Barry snapped, and ah. There was anger there, simmering away. His eyes were hard and his body was a long line of tension. Not that Len could blame him, really.

“Don’t look at _me_ , Barry. I played my part to a T last time.”

Barry’s cheeks took on two small circles of red that Len was sure were more from anger than embarrassment, looking away again. “Right.”

“Oh!” Caitlin clapped her hands, eyes wide, and everyone turned to her. She seemed to shrink under the attention. “I was just… maybe um. It’s a silly thought.” They all stared and she sighed. “It’s just—the wording of the curse? Was about Barry giving himself ‘fully’, right?”

“Right…” Cisco said, cautious. Caitlin’s face started to burn.

“Well what if the issue was that it wasn’t _fully_ enough. I mean.” She looked at Len. “You wore protection, right?”

His eyebrows shot up. She thought _that_ was the issue?

“I did.” His voice maintained its drawl, at least, but his throat was a little tight. “It’s non-negotiable. No offense, Barry.”

Barry shook his head. “No, yeah, that’s… non-negotiable for me too.”

Cisco whistled. “Definitely not ‘fully’ if there’s a non-negotiable clause in there.”

Len frowned. “Not going to happen.”

“Barry can’t get sick,” Caitlin frowned at him. “He can’t host or carry any diseases. I’ve tested his blood a thousand times against different pathogens. I still don’t even understand how his gut flora works or really know what the micro-bacterial composition in his body is at all, but I can promise you as his doctor that it’s not something to worry about. You wouldn’t even have to, er, disclose your own status—”

“I’m clean,” Len glared at her. “Not the point.” It largely _was_ the point though, or the reason for his ‘non-negotiable’ rule, at least. “Besides, aren’t you kids trying to come up with a solution that doesn’t involve rape?”

 _Bang_! It startled them all, including Len, and his heartbeat slotted more toward normal, fingers easing away from him holster, when he saw Barry’s fist through the table he’d been leaning against.

“Sorry,” he croaked, pulling his hand out. The ensuing silence was uncomfortable.

“Want me to…” Caitlin motioned vaguely but Barry shook his head, examining his scrapped up hand.

“It’ll heal in a minute, no point.”

Iris was at his side, hand on his chest and asking him something so quiet even Len couldn’t hear. He looked away, heard Barry sigh. Iris stayed by his side and he slotted an arm around her.

“Do you think there’s any chance there’s something we missed in the translation?” Barry asked to Cisco after a moment, seeming more calm, not looking at Len. Len arched his eyebrow at Cisco, also curious.

“It was one sentence, man. I’m not an expert in Latin but Hartley was pretty clear about the translation when I played it for him, and Constantine wasn’t much help except saying that curses are nasty and hard to break and he’d let us know if he heard anything about the book she stole.”

“Give yourself fully to your mortal enemy before the next half-moon or burn up from the inside out,” Iris recited. By her side, Barry had his thinking face on.

“The burning up part’s easy enough. We _have_ the mortal enemy.” He glanced at Len then back to Cisco. “Maybe we’re reading it wrong? Does it mean it’ll just keep coming back every quarter moon cycle?”

Len felt himself tense all over. _That’s_ what they were debating when he walked into the room. No. There was no way he could—

“Can’t be that—Constantine _also_ said curses can be broken.” Cisco was drumming his fingers against his desk. “Think they have magic on Earth 2? Maybe we should call Harry.”

“ _Don’t_ call Harry,” Barry dragged his fingers through his hair. “We don’t need any more people involved in this. We must’ve done something wrong if it’s back.”

Len had an uncomfortable feeling slipping into his stomach, made all the more solid when Caitlin said quietly, “like I said…”

Dammit. He titled his head at the good doctor. “’N if that doesn’t work? If we do that again without the rubber and it comes back?”

He expected Barry to be white as a sheet when he glanced at him, but he noticed that he was… still tense, but flushed, a little, eyes a little darker than usual. Len’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Then we try another solution,” Cisco snapped, finally letting his own frustration show through.

“And where’s the witch who did this to him?”

“In the wind, man. We’re working with what we’ve got, here.”

“What you’ve got is a plate full of bad ideas and non-solutions.”

“You got any better ideas?”

“Yeah—find and ice the bitch who thinks it’s okay to serve up magic with a side order of sexual assault.”

“We’re _trying_ that!”

Len opened his mouth to chastise how hard they were trying but Barry beat him to it—

“That’s enough! Please, both of you.” He was a step away from Iris now, rubbing his temples. “I hate this as much as you do Snart and I’m _sorry_ but yelling at Cisco can’t undo it and he and Caitlin were up half of last night trying to track this witch and any information on her but right now we’re empty so just—just take your anger out on the right person, alright? I’m the one who got myself cursed and the one who dragged you into this.”

Len’s stomach turned. “No need to be noble, Barry. I can play nice.”

Barry shook his head, arms wrapping around himself. He shrugged off Iris’s hand on his shoulder and Len felt a little sick. Iris turned toward Len instead.

“Does that mean you’ll do it, then? If you’ll play nice.”

He frowned at her, flicked his eyes to Barry and back. “Seems kind of a waste to let him die now.”

Barry’s eyes caught his in surprise. “Snart…”

“You seem in good shape for a dying man, though.”

He swallowed and nodded. “It’s getting worse. Tomorrow I’ll be like I was before. Or maybe it’s slower now, since the moon’s quarter cycle is seven days and last time we didn’t have that much time? That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

“So we can wait until tomorrow.”

Barry licked his lips and Len forced his eyes back up to Barry’s gaze. “Yeah, that’s—I think so but—”

“But?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. Tomorrow.”

Len narrowed his eyes and looked to Iris. She frowned. “Barr, you can’t go to work like this. Last week you couldn’t either.”

“It’s just one day.”

“You’re already starting to sweat.”

“That’s because—” he snapped his mouth closed, eyes flashing to Len then away. Bingo.

“Because, Barry?” he asked, and Barry noticeably made himself stand to his full height, jutting his jaw.

“It gets worse when you’re around. Got worse when you showed up and keeps getting more…”

Len had no idea what to say to that.

“Awkward,” Cisco whispered. Iris bit her lip. Len tried not to stare at her lips either.

He frowned at Barry instead, coming to a few conclusions at once. Waiting would prolong his suffering. Waiting would make him the messy puddle of need he’d met before, unable to control his desire, locked up in a cell. Waiting made it harder for Barry to give any sort of consent.

“Say the word, Barry, and we can do this tonight.”

“ _Please_.” His eyes widened after he said it and Len’s almost did too, not missing the way Barry’s pupils were dilated. He caught Iris blushing, her eyebrows raised while Barry cleared his throat.

“Not here,” Len offered instead of commenting on that. “That pipeline leaves a little to be desired.”

“My apartment—”

“No thanks.” He glanced at Iris. It seemed wrong to do that in their bed. “Center Street Motel, no one’ll look twice.”

In response, Barry shuddered in a way that looked more aroused than disgusted. “Now?”

Len wasn’t sure if Barry _could_ wait with the way he was starting to look. He glanced around the cortex, not exactly enjoying brokering their sex discussion with so many witnesses, but rolled his shoulders. “Why not, but _don’t_ —”

He started and Barry was already there, in his space with a spark of lightning, buzzing with energy, hands on Len’s jacket but he stopped short of actually picking Len up off his feet and his own fingers were around his gun’s handle already. There was a half-second pause before Len continued, since Barry seemed to have himself momentarily in check.

“—even think about dragging me there yourself.”

Barry stepped back, looking a little shaken. “Right. Sorry.”

“I’ll take my bike.” Barry was less than a half foot away and swallowed hard, nodding but noticeably flushed so Len continued. “And if you can’t keep yourself in check, bring those cuffs again.”

He stepped out of Barry’s space and headed for the door.

 

[ … ]

 

When Snart was out of his line of sight, Barry was able to breathe again. He pulled in a gasped breath, Iris in his space immediately, a hand on his arm, looking worried.

“Barr?”

“I’m fine—just—” he shook his head. “It’s like pheromones or something, I can’t think right when he’s around. It’s like it’s all just… _him_.”

“Are you gonna be okay to—”

“Yeah,” he rasped. He was trying not to think about it too hard. “I’ll be fine.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“It will. It did last time.”

“For a few days!”

He knew. He was worried about that too, but it didn’t matter. It was worth a shot. So he pulled her in for a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Iris. You deserve so much better than this.”

He hated that they had an audience but Cisco and Caitlin were busying themselves looking at anything but them. Iris shook her head against his chest. “I’m just worried about you, Barr.”

He deflated a little. “I’m fine. I’ll just go and do this, and then my head will be clear and we’ll be able to track down this witch.”

She nodded and let him go, kissed his cheek. Barry turned back to their uncomfortable non-audience.

“Where’d you put those cuffs, Cisco?”

 

[ … ]

 

He waited outside the room until Snart showed up. He had the key for it, had his power-dampening cuffs dangling in his hand. Snart was right—no one looked twice at him in this dive. He’d showered before coming, not really needing to rush since he was a speedster, fixing his hair back into place, and making sure he was clean, ah, everywhere.

He could feel the heat again already though, warm in the pit of his belly—more intense when he saw Snart’s bike—the sweat down his back as his mind drifted to what they were going to do, what they’d done last time. The shame was melting away, replaced by hotter edges, the focus of the memories shifting to the feel of Snart’s hands, the gravel in his voice, the way his cock—

Barry shook himself, clearing his throat as Snart got off his bike. His limbs wanted to shake, wanted to launch himself down in front of Snart and just—

He should really put on these cuffs. He snapped one wrist into place, feeling the power start to dampen in his body. Snart was getting closer, arched an eyebrow at him and Barry locked the other wrist, back falling against the door of their room, breathing heavy, eyes closed and brows drawn together, trying to keep his cool.

“My my, Barry,” Snart’s drawl was in full effect. “Feel like I should say something about swooning.”

Barry tried to clear his throat, feeling warm and flushed all over, casting around for something to say in response. “Say whatever you want so long as you fuck me.” Not that, he wasn’t supposed to say _that_.

He forced his eyes open again in time to catch Snart’s raised eyebrows before the man schooled his expression. Barry had to smirk, it was pretty easy to catch him off guard, wasn’t it?

“Got the key, I take it?”

He held it out for the man to take, making him lean into Barry’s space to unlock their door. He breathed deep through his nose when he got close, pulling in the scent of leather and cologne, a muskier one that was going straight to his head. The door opened behind his back and he stumbled back, managing not to fall, and Snart chuckled and tossed the key onto the desk in the little space.

Barry glanced behind him. Bed, bathroom, TV and stand, nightstand, closet, desk and chair. Pretty small, pretty standard, pretty shabby, but who cared? He really only wanted to do one thing anyway.

“You lucid?” Snart was eyeing him and Barry’s attention fell on him. God the man was gorgeous—broader shoulders, that leather jacket, those _hands_.

“Yeah,” he rasped, a little shiver going up his spine. He was getting hard thinking about where he wanted those hands, wanting to suck each finger. He would do it and rut against Snart’s leg, whining, looking up at the man and—

“Let’s make this quick ‘n easy then. Take off whatever you need and get on the bed and—Barry—”

Barry had walked up to him, not wanting it to be just cold and clinical, ready to seduce Snart and make him as hot as Barry felt. He got his hands in Snart’s jacket and pulled him in to nuzzle his neck, vaguely remembering Snart not wanting to kiss him—but why wouldn’t he? Kissing felt _amazing_ —trying to slot their hips together.

“ _Barry_ ,” he said again, more strangled, hands tight on Barry’s arms.

“Fuck, I know just— _please_ ,” Barry whispered before Snart managed to push him to the end of his arm’s length. He was so hard—couldn’t Snart see how much Barry wanted him? Wanted to make this as good for him as he could? “Wanna make you feel good.”

The hands tightened on his arms. “Bed.”

He shivered. If him being on the bed would make Snart happy, he wasn’t going to complain. He nodded, almost dizzy when Snart took his hands off him, and walked backward until he hit the bed, toppling back onto it. He started to pull down the zip on his pants, grinning lazily up at his partner.

“C’n make you feel amazing, you know.”

“You sound high as a kite, you know,” the man drawled back with a tilt of his head and Barry let out a low rumbling laugh, kicking off his shoes, naked from the waist down. He sat up to pull off his shirts—outer shirt and t-shirt—then frowned when they caught on his cuffs.

“Fuck.”

“Don’t worry about it, just get on your knees.”

God yes, that sounded perfect. He wanted more than that, wanted to wrap his legs around Snart and pull him in tighter, to kiss him and kiss his brow and the worried furrow, to drop to his knees and pray with his mouth—but for now this would do. He was sweating again, he could feel it, and got himself on his elbows and knees, back arched to make it easy.

“ _Please_ ,” he whined when Snart started to take too long to join him on the bed. Barry looked over his shoulder and the man was doffing his jacket and that—that was exquisite. His eyes drank in the lines of Snart’s chest, covered as it was by his sweater stretched over it, wishing he had x-ray vision. Then Snart dropped a bottle of lubricant on the bed and Barry stretched his legs out a little more, imagining Snart’s fingers inside him, knowing how good it was going to feel, belly tightening just thinking about the stretch and burn and—

“ _Please_ ,” he reiterated and Snart looked at him again, swallowed. Barry felt a blossom of triumph in his chest, knowing he was provoking a reaction. “Want you so bad.”

“You don’t,” Snart snapped and Barry’s eyebrows drew together. Snart sighed and moved behind him on the bed, making it too hard for Barry to turn and watch him anymore so he dropped his head between his shoulders again. “You just can’t control it.”

“I do, ‘m still in here,” he wished he could reassure Snart better, promise something more than that he truly wanted this. It was all mixed up but his desire, pulsing in every fiber—that was so real. He stretched his legs until he could feel the outside of Snart’s thighs encased between them and a cool hand gently gripped the skin of his ass, pulling one cheek to the side. “Want you so bad, so good, you’re so fucking sexy—”

The slick fingers pressing against his entrance stopped for a second and then resumed. Barry’s chest felt warm and he let out a keening noise, wanting those fingers to hurry up.

“Want your fingers, want your cock—want it in my mouth, god I wanna taste you, Snart—” the fingers pressed hard against him, into him and he gasped, too hot all over, everywhere except where Snart’s hands were touching him. “Leonard,” he gasped the man’s name, feeling his fingers still and then resume. There were two, definitely two, and he moaned when they pressed over the right spot, more flames licking away at his insides at the sensation, feeling like he was burning. “ _Leonard_.”

“Christ, Barry, how noisy’re you gonna be?”

Barry choked out his next moan into the mattress then bit into the shirts tangled around his cuffs, spreading his legs wider for Snart. He wanted the man to hurry up; he never wanted the man to stop. He couldn’t help but press himself back onto Snart’s fingers—three now, thank everything in existence—hissing when it was too much but craving more, _needing_ more.

“Please, S—Leonard,” he gasped out, dislodging his teeth from the make-shift gag, voice raspy but not too loud. “Please fuck me, I’m good—so good, so ready, want you.”

“You’re ready when I say you are.” Leonard’s voice had so much gravel in it and Barry bit his shirts again to muffle his moan, legs clenching around Snart’s thighs, against the rough fabric of his jeans. He was ready, so ready, but if Snart wanted to keep stretching him, he would take it. He’d take whatever Snart wanted to give him, happily.

Distantly, some part of him knew that wasn’t right. That this wasn’t normally him, a little sluice of shame cutting through the noise as he moaned into the gag at the stretch and burn inside his body, knowing he was losing himself. But shame could be damned because this—this was everything. This was the cure to the storm and fever and the heat, and he was so fucking perfect, so beautiful, like an angel of mercy come to heal and Barry angled himself up when those fingers finally retreated, almost crying he wanted it so badly.

“Good?” Leonard asked and Barry shivered. Leonard was so good to him, so _kind_.

“Better with you inside me,” he quipped, voice totally raw but his chest went warm when Leonard let out a surprised chuckle. The man moved closer to him and there was the wet sound of his hand on his cock, no doubt getting it good and slick for Barry.

“Glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” he drawled and Barry grinned, pleased, and then felt it, a nudge at his entrance. He sucked in a breath, want and need curling tight inside him, aching for it, his own cock throbbing where it was so hard it pressed against his stomach, leaking.

He groaned low in his chest as Leonard breeched him, instinctually feeling _right_. Skin on skin, jesus. It was such a heady sensation, feeling his cock stretching him out, feeling Leonard take him, hands like brands against his hips except it was the only spot on his body that didn’t feel like it was too hot.

“Barry,” Leonard’s voice sounded strained and Barry wanted to assure him—

“So good, Leonard, you feel so good—want you so bad.”

He kept pressing in, deeper and deeper until Barry felt cleaved in two. He’d been sore before, the other time, and would be again, he could tell. His body wasn’t used to this, to this type of ache and pressure inside him, but he wouldn’t give it up for the world. He couldn’t believe how bad he needed it— _need because you’re cursed_ , some small voice provided but he crushed it down—how bad he wanted this, right here.

“ _More_ ,” he begged, knowing it would help push aside the shame, fill his brain up with pleasure and want and Leonard.

And Leonard gave it to him, thrusting, shallow at first but it was intense enough, his body almost shaking with the sensation. He clutched the shirts around his cuff and bit into them again when Leonard swore, wanting to hear every sound the other man had to offer, wanting to swallow them with his mouth but Leonard wouldn’t let him. He whined at that thought, rolling his hips up to meet the other man’s, desperate to make it good for him, to make him feel as good as Barry felt, eyes already rolling back in pleasure.

He wasn’t going to last long. Even with the burn, the stretch that was almost painful, the ache inside him and the _too much too much not enough too much_ feeling when Leonard’s cock pressed against his prostate and made him moan loud into his shirts, he couldn’t last.

“ _Please please please fuck_ ,” his voice was raspy, so desperate, so filled with need in a way that made his muscles tighten, unable to fight this feeling, “god please Leonard touch me, gotta cum, please I gotta—”

Leonard shifted his weight, leaning more over Barry, arm going around his chest to hold him in place as he drilled his hips in, other hand sliding around to have mercy on him, fingers gripping his cock. It pulsed in the man’s hand, feeling too hot and cool at the touch at once, and Barry swore. His hips were stuttering, mouth permanently open, panting in gasps but Leonard was groaning closer to his ear and it was delicious, the way his breath would ghost past the skin of Barry’s neck, cooling the sweat there. He arched for it, shivering, eyes rolling back and Leonard stroked his cock until he was seeing white, feeling it build low in his abdomen and his gasps sped up.

“Leonard— _Leonard_ —gonna _—_ ” he choked out the sound, spilling all over Leonard’s hand and the bed, shuddering, body convulsing hard and tight around the thick cock filling him up.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Leonard swore near his ear, low and hot, before his fingers were on Barry’s sides again, angling him up, hips hard to the point of violence. Barry felt a fraction more lucid, cheeks heating up, pleasure suffused in every pore along with the heat, shame building in his stomach and putting an edge on every sensation, almost disbelieving that Leonard Snart was about to—how much he _wanted_ the man to—

Fuck.

Snart groaned near his ear and bit the flesh between Barry’s neck and shoulder, hard enough to make him shudder and he could feel it, dimly, then intensely, the splash inside of him. In an instant the key turned in the lock inside his mind and he was awake again, shuddering because his body was cooling rapidly, shuddering because he was still post-orgasm and high on endorphins and pleasure and afterglow and his body felt _amazing_ but goddamn—Leonard Snart was spilling his cum inside of him.

Barry screwed his eyes shut and let out a breath, shivering when Leonard leaned back on his knees with a sigh, a final roll of his hips, and then stilled there for a moment, pulling in deep breaths. Barry did the same until Leonard pulled out, then shuddered again because his hole was twitching around nothing and he knew if he rolled onto his back, cum would make a mess. He clenched and stretched out on his front with a quiet hiss, the muscles in his legs feeling pleasantly sore.

Leonard was flopped onto his back next to him. “Think that’s my exercise for the week.”

Barry laughed, pulling his face out of his shirts, making sure his eyes were dry before he turned to grin at Snart. “That was pretty intense.”

“Mm.” The man’s eyes were closed for a moment and Barry almost smiled. He could pretend this was normal. He could. “You…?”

“Back to me, yeah.”

Not that he’d lost it in the same way as before, but some of the things he said, did…

Snart nodded and sat up. “Gonna clean myself up. You got a key for those things?” He pointed at Barry’s cuffs.

“My pants pocket.”

Snart tossed his pants over to him before disappearing into the bathroom and Barry was grateful. He managed to get the cuffs off and felt the flush of relief and comfort as his connection to the speedforce came rushing back. It was a testament to how much he _did_ trust Snart that he hadn’t really thought twice about putting them on at the entrance to this little room, knew the man wouldn’t use it against him. Not that he wanted to examine that right now. Still, he was never going to feel fully like himself if he couldn’t use his speed.

He heard the sound of water running and glanced around the room for—ah, a tissue box. Perfect. He used his speed for the first stage of clean up, getting himself good enough that he wouldn’t make a mess of his boxers when he put them back on, face flushing when he felt Leonard’s cum oozing out of him. He sped into the washroom as soon as Snart was out, splashing water on his face, washing up in a hurry and flashing into his clothes.

He didn’t want Snart to be out the door by the time he was done.

Thankfully, he wasn’t. He had put on his jacket, and Barry hadn’t noticed when he took off his shoes but he was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling them on.

His throat stuck around the words he wanted to say. At least they were both dressed. Somehow, that wasn’t making it easier.

“Think it’ll stick this time?” Snart asked without looking at him.

Barry looked away. “I hope so.”

“Think it’s that easy?”

He swallowed. “Honestly?”

Snart was lacing up his second boot. Barry sighed.

“Can we… talk.”

That got him a Look. An arched eyebrow and an otherwise flat expression.

“Not the best choice for a therapist.”

“That’s not—” he scowled, knowing Snart was deflecting. “Please.”

The man sighed and stood up, opened his mouth then closed it, tilted his head and finally snapped, “ _what_?”

Barry bit the inside of his lip. Dammit. “I’m sorry.” That was such an awkward thing to say to the man who’d been literally inside of him minutes prior. Barry wasn’t good at apologies to begin with.

“Not your fault.”

“It is. You don’t want to do this and I know that I’m sorry you ever got roped into it and I—” he dragged a hand over his face, trying to gather his thoughts. “What I’m doing to you is terrible, and I need you to know that I know that, and that I’ll do whatever I can to make up for it.”

Snart was silent for a minute, then stepped closer to him, expression carefully neutral. “Barry… you _do_ realize that I’m the one raping you?”

His throat clicked. “You’re really not.”

“You can’t consent to this.”

“I literally _beg_ you for it,” his throat felt tight as he remembered.

“You can’t control that, that much is painfully obvious, Barry.”

“I—” he swallowed, unsure what he was even going to say. He shook his head. “Neither can you.”

“I can. I _did_.”

“You don’t and I die, that’s not consent!”

Snart’s expression was intense. Barry realized that it wasn’t flat, or careful, it was _intense_ as hell. Constrained and holding something back.

“I’m lucid,” he ground out, “you’re not. I’m in control, you—”

“Beg for it. Okay? Just—you’re not raping me, Leonard. I mean it.” He swallowed after, realizing he’d used Snart’s name again. He’d convinced himself the other man liked it, hearing his name, and had made judicious use of it. He wasn’t even sure how many times he’d said it in his desperation, pretty sure he’d repeated it over and over at some point in there.

Snart tilted his head and if Barry thought he was about to give in and agree, he lost that hope with the cruel look to his eye. “If someone rapes you with a toy, the toy rapes you, right?”

Barry saw where that was going. “The toy is just a tool, not a rapist. And the toy has no agency, or it would be losing it too. That’s such a weird fucking example.”

“I’m the tool used to rape you. You’re still being raped.”

Barry closed his eyes and counted to three because he wanted to punch something. He fists shook in anger at his sides. “Fine,” he snapped, opening them again. “I’m a victim. Not a new label for me—you know that, even if it is a new spin on it for me. But you’re not at fault so please stop saying you’re raping me because you’re not.”

The man stepped back, “fine, Barry. That all you wanted to say?”

He willed his throat to unstuck. “Yeah. And. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to give a bit of background here on things and the time at which this fic is placed in the Flash continuity, and then to basically have a parallel of the first scene from Barry’s PoV. I tried to show how he devolves into that thinking without really being able to stop or reason about it (that’ll abate a bit though, as things go) and then snaps back to reality once Len has, er, had his fill of him.
> 
> Next chapter sure flesh stuff out a bit. Chapters for this are ending up pretty long so I’ll try to keep that going. That being said, I won’t be able to update as quickly lol, since this was pretty much back to back (ahh, it was so nice to spend my weekend writing). Thank you all so much for the positive reception so far! Hope this chapter wasn’t too narratively repetitive for you.
> 
> As always, comments are love <3
> 
> PS - sorry if there's typos, it's midnight and I wanted to get this out :)


	3. Fever Heat

The problem with a good thief, even a half-decent one, was that if you didn’t catch them at the scene and didn’t have their ID, they could be notoriously difficult to track down if the trail went cold.

Joe was using every contact he had but even the few C-Is he had that were willing to dish knew nothing about magic. Metas, sometimes, and something about a cult, but no witches. Barry told Oliver the curse was still in effect which earned him a conversation he mostly tried to dance around, not really wanting to reveal he was sleeping with Snart to Oliver. Ollie was already threatening to come to Central, knowing more about magic than Barry did, but so long as he didn’t know the secret to breaking a curse and didn’t do magic himself, he wasn’t gonna be much help.

Cisco and Iris googled all manner of “curse-breaking” remedies and had Barry go through about 20 of them, each more ridiculous than the last, with mirrors and black salt and herbs. He was pretty confident you had to actually be able to _use_ magic for any of this stuff to work and curled his lip at the smell of the burning sage, holding crystals in either hand.

None of it abated his slowly growing fever.

 

[ … ]

 

The Roxy was loud and busy and Len was enjoying that about it for once. Lisa’s pick, since he’d never choose a spot this gaudy, but he had to admit it had a certain appeal. He signaled the waitress for another beer, feeling himself relax into his seat a little more at their corner booth.

“So then Snart takes the _fire extinguisher_ ‘n it’s sputtering everywhere after the flames but nothing’s gonna stop ‘em now—” Mick kept talking as Len tuned back in. Lisa was laughing, which was a little generous given that she’d heard this story before.

“How long does _that_ last?” she asked.

“Just long enough to use it all up before the pigs roll around the corner.”

She shot him a grin and Len knew she was laughing at his misfortune. He drummed his fingers on the table, smirking a little at the memory.

“Not my finest moment.”

“You don’t say?”

“Wasn’t that bad, Snart. Gotta say, didn’t expect you to hit ‘em over the head with the useless extinguisher.”

He shrugged one shoulder, “desperate times, Mick.”

They both chuckled at him, with him, and he took another sip of his beer before halting. His phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He narrowed his eyes instinctually because the only two people who ever phoned him with a pleasant reason were sitting across from him.

He pulled it out. Didn’t recognize the number, but had a feeling he knew who it was. Both Lisa and Mick raised their eyebrows at him.

“A moment.” He stepped out of the booth, hitting the button and putting it up to his ear. “Evening.”

“Snart? Hi, it’s Barry.”

Len moved to the quieter hall at the back of the bar, near to the washrooms. “Something tells me you’re not calling just to check in.”

“No, it’s… the same as before.”

Len glanced as his finger nails, pushing at the cuticles a little with his thumb nail. “Shocking,” he deadpanned, earning a little laugh from Barry.

“Yeah. Uh.”

“It’s been three days.”

“I know—you don’t—I just wanted to let you know. Check in with you.”

Len resolutely didn’t analyze anything in his voice when he said that, just pushed it aside and prioritized. “Any luck finding that witch?”

“Joe tracked down someone who knows about the book she stole, he’s going to talk to her in the morning.”

“Anyone I’d know?”

“Do you know antiquity dealers?”

“Some.”

There was a beat, then, “of course you do.” Barry seemed exasperated and Len caught himself almost smiling. “Does the name Amara Van Trost mean anything to you?”

“Only by reputation. She’s a shark.”

“So long as she knows something…”

“Keep me posted on that.” He was pretty sure they couldn’t operate under ‘no news is good news’ anymore. “And if your condition doesn’t clear up in the next forty-eight hours…”

“Thanks, Snart. We’ll uh, be in touch.”

“Mm.”

He ended the call and stared at his phone for a moment. Dammit. He took a second, cracking his neck, keeping himself neutral, and headed back to his table. He finished his beer right after sitting, motioning the waitress over.

“Anyone interesting?” Lisa asked in a way that was probably meant to be casual but she’d never done anything halfway casual in her life.

“Telemarketer,” he supplied, an obvious lie of the variety they weren’t meant to buy. Mick actually snorted and Len ordered a whiskey off their server.

Lisa arched an eyebrow at him. “Job?”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“Lenny…”

He shifted, sending her a look. She rolled her eyes, lightly kicked his shin under the table like she used to when she was six, but dropped it.

 

[ … ]

 

“Thank you for meeting with us, Mrs. Van Trost.”

“Please, Amara is fine, detective.”

She smiled at Joe in a way that was more than friendly and Cisco had to hide his grin as they followed the woman through some huge ass rooms in her mansion. It was actually out of the city a little ways, a proper estate and he was trying not to gawk at the place, following diligently until they were at a literal indoor _library_ with furniture that probably cost more than his apartment. He resisted the urge to go check out all the books on the various walls.

“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?” The woman had dark brown skin and her hair was in cut into a wavy bob. She was playing the part of a rich widow well with the deep reddish lipstick, eyes only for Joe. Cisco was almost wondering if he should beat a quick exit from this interview and give her and Joe some time to get acquainted.

“We’re good, thank you,” Joe said, a little too gruff and Cisco waggled his eyebrows a him behind her back, earning a disapproving glance from Joe before their host turned around again and smiled at them.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” she sat on a large chaise and Cisco tentatively took a seat on her couch, Joe following.

“As I mentioned on the phone, we’re looking for any information you might have on this ancient book, The Lost Book of Samael.”

“Yes, I recall. Terrible that it was stolen.”

“Can you tell us a little bit about it? My friend Cisco here found a little on the internet.”

“Oh?” she finally turned toward him and he nodded, a little intimated by this woman and her smooth, elegant way of moving.

“Yeah uh, dates back to the Crusades, something about a legend where King Louis the Ninth stole the book from North Africa?”

Van Trost made a scathing noise in her throat, “Europeans. Naturally.”

Cisco smiled a little and Joe snorted.

“You’re telling me. But yeah, I guess the book was guarded by the French court for a few centuries until Napoleon did his schtick, then was lost for a while and turned up again in the relics that surfaced after World War 2 in Germany?”

“That’s mostly right,” she agreed before leaning forward to pour some ice water from the pitcher on the table. “Assuming it’s the real thing.”

“Are there fakes?” Joe asked, tapping his notepad with his pen.

“One or two have turned up with that claim, but books like these bear marks of their age, sigils and more. A good forgery is hard to make, and even then not very convincing.”

Joe hummed, “why would someone want to steal it?”

“Money? I’m sure you’d know more about that than I would, detective.” She laughed like honey, winking at him. Cisco tried hard to fight down his grin.

“What are the contents of the book, do you know?”

She hummed, sipping her water. “This and that. It’s reportedly a demonology.”

“A what now?”

“A description of demons and their varying orders. Like the angelology of heaven?” She took in their blank stares. “You’ve heard of the Book of Raziel?”

Cisco knew it rang a bell from his research but he looked at Joe, who shrugged.

Their host stood but waved at them to keep sitting. “It was written around the same era, same languages—Hebrew, Aramaic, translated into Latin. It’s been used as an angelology for those of the Jewish faith, and some still recognize it as a true grimoire.”

“A what now?” Joe turned to ask her, tracking her as she moved over to a bookshelf, but Cisco could actually answer that one.

“Like a spellbook.”

The woman nodded at him, pleased, pulling something off the shelf. “It’s considered mostly for religious and scholarly study, of course, though—a sort of spiritual text.”

She handed it to Joe, a book with gilded Hebrew letters and in English, under them, ‘The Book of the Angel Raziel’. “You just have a copy?”

“You can download the pdf online,” she laughed. “That one’s not exactly in short supply. Keep that copy if you like, I have others.”

“Thank you.” Joe handed it to Cisco, who was relieved the contents were in English when he flipped it open. Joe kept talking. “Could uh, anything in these books—Raziel, Samael—be used to do any actual damage?”

“Hard to say. Of course, magic isn’t _real_ —but then, you never know what knowledge can do in the wrong hands.”

“Right.” Joe cleared his throat. “And do you have any more of these types’ve _spellbooks_ laying around?”

She was back to sitting, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other in what lesser men would’ve called an elegant gesture but what Cisco was going to call a power move with how her eyes glittered in amusement while she did it. “Don’t tell me you think the thief was what—a wiccan?”

Joe and Cisco exchanged a glance and Joe cleared his throat. “You never know what people are willing to believe in Central City these days.”

“Well, I’ll let you know if anyone comes poking around my collection, but I promise I don’t have anything that would be of interest to the police.”

“Got any that deal with curses?” Cisco chimed in, looking up from the book still open on his lap.

“Curses?” she seemed faintly surprised, then frowned. “Now why the devil would you need a book on curses?”

“For the… case?” He looked at Joe meaningfully. Joe was a much better liar.

“We have reason to believe the thief has an interest in books that deal with occult arts, including…” he gave Cisco a flat stare, “curses.”

“Mm, sorry gentleman, I’m afraid my library is in short supply on anything that isn’t for scholarly study. Please feel free to look around though.” She stood again. “If there’s anything you’d like to borrow, just let my assistant know. But if you’ll excuse me, I do have a few other matters to attend to this afternoon.”

“Of course.” Joe stood up to shake her hand and Cisco followed. They did end up picking up another book off her shelf to borrow, _The New Encyclopedia of the Occult_ , but they weren’t especially hopeful about it.

“Did she seem… frosty? At the end?” Cisco asked once they were safe in Joe’s car again.

“When you mentioned curses?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s plenty she’s not telling us. Not sure what it is yet though.”

“You think the flirting was just a distraction tactic?”

Joe turned to shoot him a frown. “Damn, Cisco. I like to think I still got a little charm.”

He laughed, “handsomest guy I know, Joe.”

Joe shook his head with a smile, “least she wasn’t like that woman who moved into Barry’s old house.”

“Oh man!” Cisco giggled hard at the memory, Joe laughing too. “Really thought I was gonna have to give you some alone time with that one.”

“Not on your life. Don’t leave me in the lion’s den like that.”

“Scout’s honor.”

 

[ … ]

 

“You’re sure you’re okay, B?”

“I’m fine,” he ground out, watching his arm as his blood filled a little cylinder. Caitlin was gentle pulling the needle from his arm and he turned his head toward Cisco. “I promise.”

“If that’s the case, let’s go over this aga—”

“I already told you,” Barry paused to pull his sleeve back down, stealing a glance at Iris for a second. “It’s not something about the sex. It can’t be.” And he didn’t really want to go back into _describing_ the sex when Iris was here this time, especially since it was just going to make him think of Snart, and that was going to make him—

“Maybe it’s the cuffs?” Cisco asked. Barry sighed.

“It’s not the cuffs. The dreams at the start were all… some of them had bondage. That can’t be it. Wearing them is giving him more power, not the over way around.”

“Maybe it’s not sex at all?” Iris asked, tilting her head with a frown. “The curse doesn’t specifically mention sex.”

His stomach turned a little at the thought. He’d been wondering too, but if that was the case, why had he been so desperate for it from Snart? Why was he still?

“If it’s not the sex,” Caitlin answered for him, not even looking up a she scribbled something on her clipboard, “that’s still the best way to keep him alive until we find a proper cure.”

His swallowed, willing his stomach to unknot. Even if it wasn’t _the_ cure, it was still necessary. He wasn’t putting them all through this for nothing.

“Maybe it’s only a half cure because he really _isn’t_ your ‘mortal’ enemy anymore?” Cisco asked, leaning forward on his elbows. Barry glared at him.

“I’m _not_ sleeping with Mardon. Or Rory. Or any of the people who’d use this excuse to ki—”

“Open,” Caitlin said, standing in from of him with a mouth swab. He sighed and opened his mouth. He’d been here every day for her to take readings on his temperature, blood, and saliva, tracking his body’s increasing response to the curse.

“That’s gotta be the point, right?” Iris frowned again. She was sitting in a chair adjacent to Barry, on the edge of the med bed. “Put you in front of your enemy, vulnerable, so that person can kill you?”

“Or make you his bitch,” Cisco added. Barry shot him a look once Caitlin retreated with the swab and he screwed up his face in half-apology. “I mean…”

“Can we just focus on what the cure might be? Because Constantine said any mortal enemy would do, and I wouldn’t have dreams about Snart in the first place if he didn’t fit the bill, right?” They nodded and he continued. “But if that’s not it, the cuffs can’t be it, and short of giving myself to my enemy meaning _literally_ having him kill me, I’m fresh out of ideas, guys. Other than…”

Sleeping with Snart. Which he really didn’t need to be thinking about right now anyway, not in the med room at STAR Labs, especially not with all their eyes on him. It was hard not to think about it though, especially because the last time had been ever better than the first, less hazy, Snart’s hands like brands on his hips and the way his shoulder had tingled from the bite, healed fast a few days ago but now he almost missed it, hoped that when he saw Snart again he might—

“You’re looking a little flushed, Barr,” Iris said and Barry snapped his eyes open. Shit.

“I’m fine.”

It had already been four days. He was trying to hold out for longer.

“Your temperature is pretty elevated.” Caitlin frowned, already shoving a thermometer in his ear to take a new reading even though she just did that twenty minutes ago. “Are you sure you don’t want us to call—”

“ _No_.” No he wasn’t sure at all but they really shouldn’t be giving him that option. He clenched his hands into the soft seat of the med bed, fingers digging in. “I’m fine.”

“ _AN-y_ way,” Cisco enunciated, “what’s with this? Him reacting so strong after four days? I thought the rule was he gets seven for the moon cycle.”

“Hmm, well probably…” Caitlin stepped back, scribbled the temperature reading on her chart and they all looked at her. “I think, based on my readings, the rate of progression is matching what it was in the first place. He was cursed six days before the next half-moon, right? And it doesn’t reset with the moon phases, it resets every time he has intercourse with Snart. It’s a six-day cycle now.”

Barry dragged both hands over his face. “Fuck.”

Cisco let out a little curse, then, “I mean, it could be worse—could’a been like two days to the next half-moon when she cursed you and then you’d be doing this everyday.”

Everyday. He swallowed, knowing that shouldn’t sound suddenly _good_ but it did. “Not helping, Cisco,” he ground out.

Iris was up and had a hand on his arm in an instant, “you’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.”

He nodded, leaning against her, breathing in the coconut and strawberry smell to her hair that drove him a little wild but in a way he wasn’t going to complain about. “Anyone got good news?”

“Only that we’re pretty sure Van Trost knows more than she’s letting on,” Cisco supplied.

“And that I’m starting to understand _how_ this curse works, if not why,” Caitlin added.

“You… what?” Barry asked.

“‘Magic is just science we don’t understand yet.’ I’m looking into the science.”

“And quoting Arthur C. Clarke,” Cisco grinned.

“You forget I’m as big of a nerd as you are, Cisco.”

“Does that mean you can cure it?” Iris asked.

Caitlin frowned. “Not… yet. There’s no root cause in his system that I can see, but compared to yesterday, his system has elevated levels of oxytocin, vasopressin, and testosterone, and suppressed cortisol and adrenaline. It’s subtle, but Barry’s system is very stable, if unique, so it’s coming through compared to his baseline.”

“Perfect.” He leaned forward and dragged a hand through his hair as his biochem lectures from university tap-danced around in his memory, judging him.

Iris looked between them. “What does that mean?”

Caitlin went into full lecture mode. “Well the first two can function like bonding hormones in mammals. They’re released during sexual stimulation, so it’s not _too_ surprising to see them elevated, and of course testosterone plays a role in arousal and libido. Oxytocin and vasopressin are involved in bonding and explain the trusting part, how Barry wants to ‘give himself’ to his enemy.” She paused, tilting her head toward him. “Some research even points to the role of oxytocin in altruism. And with the decreased cortisol and adrenalin, with their connection to stress and fight-and-flight, I can see why how this curse makes you feel totally safe being so vulnerable to your enemy. I’m sure these are all exacerbated as soon as you’re in Snart’s presence.”

Cisco whistled. Barry could almost feel a headache coming on, but he was grateful, in a private sort of way, that Caitlin hadn’t called oxytocin by its silly nickname, had kept it clinical and skirted what else it helped with.

“That’s… great, Caitlin. But I don’t think hormone therapy is gonna help here.” Iris glanced at him to confirm and he nodded.

“Yeah, no.” He didn’t actually _want_ it either, not if it wasn’t a cure. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the sex with Snart, humiliated at how completely out of it he got, how desperate, wanton, begging, needing, god it felt so—

He shook himself, swallowed, made sure no one caught the momentary lapse in his attention. Either way, he definitely wasn’t ready to consider trying to sleep with the man _without_ his head swimming like that, in hormones or whatever it was. The guilt alone would make it so much worse than just the momentary embarrassment whenever he had to look at Snart after.

“No…” Caitlin agreed, little divot between her eyebrows as she pulled them together. “But it’s a clue. And if I can find what’s causing that, or find what’s causing the fever, maybe we can cut this off at the source.”

He nodded, done for the night. “I need a shower and some sleep. Let us know if you come up with anything else.”

 

[ … ]

 

The world was bleary and sleepy and dark and for a moment her head was swimming with unconsciousness, trying to pull her back under. Then she heard it, an aborted whine, and suddenly was much wider awake.

Iris sat up in the bed with a quiet sigh, pulling her hair out of her face and looking down at Barry in the light coming in from their window. He was stretched out on his back, sweating, asleep and dreaming. She could see his hard on through the thin blankets from here.

She gnawed at the inside of her lip. He seemed to hate the dreams. It was awkward to wake him, but maybe better to?

“Barr…” she whispered, then again, louder, moving to tap him but he jolted awake first.

There was a trail of lightning as he bolted to sitting, gasping, and his skin still felt like the tingly residue of electricity under her hand when she touched his shoulder.

“You okay?”

He sighed and leaned into her, not stopping until he was hugging her around the middle. “Yeah… just.”

She shushed him, hand trailing softly down his back. “It’s okay.”

He shook his head. “’m so hot.”

“Yeah.” He really was. “Do you need…” Snart. She hated that more than she could tell him. Not that he was sleeping with the man when he couldn’t help it, but that he _had_ to. And, if she was honest with herself, that anyone but her could help him. That she _couldn’t_ help him.

“Need to get off,” he murmured, arms still around her waist, talking into her hair. Her eyes widened a little and he was already moving back. “I can take care of it if you don’t want—”

“No! No it’s,” she moved back, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “It’s good. I’m game.”

Something she could do for him. Something _fun_ she could do for him.

“Yeah?” his voice was breathy and she shivered, he was already kissing her neck. He must be horny. Scratch that, she knew he was.

“Yeah.”

His hands moved down her body. She’d went to bed in an oversized tanktop and loose boxers and he made fast work of both, kissing her lips again, deep for a minute before leaning her back on the bed. He was over her, in between her knees and his lips were moving down, sucking on her nipples, sucking his own fingers for a second before sliding them down quick to tease her clit in slow, soft, perfect circles. She was already getting wet just from the attention to her nipples, the kisses he kept peppering across her chest, the slight drag of his teeth along the sensitive spots. She sighed when he gave up her chest in favor of trailing kisses down her body and she pressed her back into the mattress, hands sliding over his skin everywhere she could reach.

She almost giggled when he tongue flicked her bellybutton. “I thought I was getting _you_ off, Barr.”

“Mmm,” he agreed against the inside of her hip, tonguing a spot that always made her gasp. “Getting there.”

She leaned up on her elbows and looked down the length of her body and saw his hand moving in a rhythmic motion underneath him, fisting his cock even as he moved his hot mouth over her wet snatch. Then she gasped, head dropping back against as his tongue pressed flat and broad in a teasing lick against her folds. He moaned quietly against her and she arched a bit while he settled better between her knees, both hands moving up her thighs to spread them wider. His tongue was targeted then, pressing inside her with sure thrusts, making her groan before sliding back up, flicking her clit.

“Barry…” she breathed out, delighted. He moaned again but didn’t stop, slipping a finger inside of her, thrusting slowly. Normally she’d ask for it faster, deeper, harder than this, but in the middle of the night it was a nice speed, a needy tightness settling low in her abdomen. His other hand was conspicuously gone from her skin again and her lips curled up, sure he was touching himself.

“Lemme finish you,” she whispered. “Wait for me, babe.”

He pulled back to kiss her thigh, sucking. “You got it,” he whispered in the dark, voice low and full of sex. She whined a little a second later when his tongue was back on her clit, when he was pressing another finger into her wetness. Her back arched and she shifting her knees up, angling her hips. His fingers slid against her g-spot with each thrust in now, curled to hit the right spot and pleasure and tension were building fast inside her as he gained speed.

“C’mon, Barry, harder against my—yeah…” she moaned, his tongue suddenly firmer, wet and sure against her clit, fingers not stopping. Her muscles tightened, rocking her hips just a little against his face, gasping and feeling it build, feeling herself tighten. She was moaning, thighs starting to clench and she arched, suddenly sliding her fingers into his thick hair, on edge.

“Like that, right there, don’t sto— _ah_ — _ah_!—”

She shuddered as it overtook her, gasping out his name into the quiet air, wet and pulsing, feeling her inner walls convulse around his fingers. He helped her ride the wave with slow thrusts, tongue circling until she was done shuddering on each pass before finally pulling back.

“Wow,” her voice was a little raspy and she cleared her throat, “3am sex is something we need to do more often.”

He chuckled, nose sliding up along her skin, in between her breasts and he kissed the skin there before leaning up and capturing her lips, letting her taste herself. He felt fevered to the touch, hands hot on her waist, skin hot everywhere and she remembered how bad he needed this. She reached down, hand wrapping around his hard cock, stroking when he pulled back to whine against her neck.

“ _Iris_ —”

She smiled at the sound of his voice, at her name on his lips. “Wanna cum in my mouth, Barr? Or somewhere else?”

He groaned against her skin, thrusting into her hand, slick with precome. “God you’re beautiful,” he licked her neck and she refrained from giggling, ticklish now. “Can I cum on you?”

That was even less work for her, tiredness starting to set in again now that she felt languid and sated. She definitely wasn’t going to complain. “Yeah baby, c’mon.”

She urged him up to straddle her hips, stroking. He was flushed down his chest, too dark in the room to properly read his eyes but they were lidded, his lips parted. He was already totally on edge, she could feel it. All she’d have to do was speed up her lazy strokes.

“You want it?”

“Yeah,” his voice was shot. “You’re so beautiful. God, you’re beautiful.”

She smiled up at him, stroking his thigh with her free hand, “you too, Barry.”

She curled her wrist a little, making the sort of swirl motion she’d learned he loved, easy when he was so slick like this, stroking faster, picking up speed, building to it. His head titled back but he didn’t take his eyes off of her, arching back when he was close, gasping out to let her know he was there but she already knew, whispering filthy encouragement and he moaned, mouth dropping open into that perfect ‘o’ as he came. He striped her stomach with ribbons of cum, some of it catching her arm, her hand and she grinned, her pussy giving a sympathetic throb as he shuddered in her hand.

Finally, he let out a last gasp and curled over her, wrapping her up in a deep, messy hug. She melted into it, knowing they’d have to clean up but wishing she could pass right back out just like this.

“You good?”

“Perfect.” He sounded so much more relaxed, warm and fuzzy like she felt. “You’re the best.”

“Mmm. No you.”

“Love you.”

“You too.” She yawned. “Even when you ruin my beauty sleep.”

“Not like you need it.”

She smiled. “I do. And so do you. Think you can sleep now?”

“Yeah.” He finally moved off her, standing with a yawn but then held out a hand to help her off the bed. She kissed his shoulder, following him to the bathroom, navigating their hallway in the dark, the little night-light in the bathroom enough to guide their way. He ran a cloth under warm water.

“Thanks for waking me up.”

She made a noise at the cloth against her skin, wiping away the evidence and she took it from him, a little sheepish in the post-glow now with his cum drying to her skin. “Why dream when you can have the real thing?”

He hummed, watching her in the mostly-dark and she tried not to think about how she wasn’t who he was dreaming about at all.

“Was it Snart, again?” She bit her lip, shouldn’t’ve asked. Wouldn’t’ve, but it was 3:30am and no one was prized for their self-control at this hour of the morning, right? “Sor—”

“No it’s—it was him, yeah.” Barry gave a little shiver and dragged a hand through his hair, cleared his throat. “Always is, now.”

It must be so awful for him. He always clammed up about it and she couldn’t blame him. Barry wasn’t forthcoming about things at the best of times, and with what he was going through, she understood why he must want to bury the memories and the feelings. Her skin would be crawling if she was him. It _was_ crawling, thinking of how violated he was.

She dropped the long-forgotten cloth in the skin to put a hand on his arm. “You can talk to me. I promise. I’m here for you.”

“It’s not—I’m fine, really.”

She nodded, knowing he probably thought that. “If there’s anything I can do— _anything_ at all, Barr.”

“You’re already doing so much. I never wanted to drag you into any of this. I didn’t even mean to wake up you up tonight.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she aimed for lighter, smirking a little. “I’m not complaining, really.”

He grinned again and shook his head a little, and she knew they’d get through this. She just couldn’t wait for it to be over.

 

[ … ]

 

“You holding up okay?” Joe frowned at him from the door of his lab.

Barry swallowed down another glorious mouthful of coffee. “Hanging in there.”

“I should cancel dinner with Wally tonight.”

“Don’t—I can make it through dinner.”

“’N then what?”

He put the mug back on his desk, wishing Joe had never asked. Not because it was awkward to talk about that with a parent but because it let him think about it, let the daydreams take over. “Snart said to call when I—” Barry snapped his mouth closed around whatever embarrassing words were going to slip out next. _Needed him_. _Wanted him inside me. Couldn’t wait for his cock any longe—_

“How many times are you gonna put yourself through that?”

Barry opened his eyes to Joe’s worried face and felt his chest tighten, his stomach turn a little. He shouldn’t be thinking about sex with Leonard right now, not like this, not when everyone was worried about him.

“As many times as it takes until we figure out how to break it.”

It pained him to see how pained that made Joe.

“It’s fine—really its—he’s not—” He had no idea how to explain how good it felt—how much he desperately, desperately wanted it—without tipping hard toward territory no one wanted to hear about. He couldn’t bear to explain to Iris that he wasn’t hurting, that it felt good, couldn’t even explain how much of a gentleman Snart was. And if he couldn’t bring it up with her, he definitely wasn’t about to talk to Joe about it.

“It beats this fever. Really, Joe. It’s not as bad as whatever you’re thinking.”

“You look bad, now, Barr. ‘N I saw you shivering like hell on the floor of that cell.”

He flushed a little, wishing he hadn’t finished his mug of coffee so he had something to hide behind. Shivering in that cell, mind a red haze of sex and supplication, narrowed in on a few enemies. Mostly Snart. Sometimes Rory. Sometimes someone else, more dangerous than either of them, not by kill count but by what they’d no-doubt do to Barry if he ever showed them his throat like that. Wanting all of them.

“I know I look like crap but I can muscle through, I promise.” He forced himself to focus, a task that was quickly feeling impossible. 

“You sure about dinner?”

No, he wasn’t. He tilted his head back in his seat. “What time is it right now?”

“Three.”

Fuck. Four hours till he was off work. Then dinner at Joe’s. Then calling Snart, no doubt having to wait for the man. He swallowed. “Maybe I should clock out early.”

Joe was silent and Barry thought about it, just leaving work right now, tracking down Snart. Saints and Sinners, maybe? Or maybe he’d track him by his cold gun. Barry almost hoped he was at the run down bar though, hoped that he could walk in, eye Snart up and down, let the man pull him into a restroom stall—that’s all it would take, really, just that enclosed space, Barry’s hands against the wall, Snart with his—

“Allen!” Julian’s voice snapped on entry and Barry sat up sharp in his seat. “Ah, Detective West, didn’t see you there.”

“Julian,” Joe nodded.

“Allen,” Julian’s snap was mollified only slightly, “where’s the Ferber case report? I was supposed to have it on my desk yesterday.”

Right. Shit. “Um, almost done. Just one paragraph left.”

“It was supposed to be done _yesterday_ and—are you feeling alright?” he switched tracks midsentence, voice softening as he tilted his head. Julian wasn’t a terrible guy, just a stickler for the rules, had been ever since he was hired during Barry’s leave of absence in June after his father’s death, along with a whole new wave of cops to help fill the spots left in Zoom’s wake.

“Fever,” Barry admitted, knowing he was sweating and flushed.

Julian wrinkled his nose. “Then what are you doing here? You’ll no doubt botch something in that state. Get home and keep your germs out of the office.”

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“If you’re not, stay home.”

Barry nodded, trying to disguise how eager he was to leave here, to go find Snart, but Joe was eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’ll walk you out. Thanks, Julian.”

“Of course.” He nodded, always polite with Joe, and Joe actually did walk Barry out. He was tapping on his phone at the same time.

Barry frowned his way. “I can take it from here.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

“Huh?”

“I’m calling Iris to come pick you up.” He was already holding his phone up to his ear.

“ _Iris_? Why—I need Snart, not—”

“ _Shh_ ,” Joe shushed him, looking around to make sure no one heard him mention Snart before quietly hissing, “because you locked yourself in the pipeline last time you looked like this ‘n I wanna make sure you don’t do anything you’ll regret if you run off to—” he paused and listened to his phone, “hey baby, how’s it going?”

It was an effective bucket of cold water over Barry’s head. Or, glass of cold water, at least. Had he seriously thought he was just gonna run until he found Snart and make the man fuck him in a seedy _bathroom_?

“Uh huh,” Joe was continuing to Iris, “Barry’s in a bad way. Can you come pick him up, help take him to you-know-who? … Who’s Voldemort? Wait that’s the guy in Harry Potter, right?... Yeah okay, see you soon.”

The wait for Iris was quiet, Joe tossing him worried glances every few seconds while Barry resolutely kept his hands in his pockets and his vision focused on the mouth of the alley where she’d be picking him up. His girlfriend, picking him up to sleep with his enemy. He almost wanted to laugh. And then his throat tightened with the sudden, irrepressible mental image of both of them, Iris’s smile as she kissed him, Snart chuckling against his throat from behind.

 _Holy hell_ but he wanted—

“Barr?”

“Don’t ask,” he said, strangled, knowing his face was giving away way too much of whatever was on his mind.

Joe shook his head and Iris pulled up, finally, even though it had really only been five minutes, a short drive from the CCPN to the precinct. Barry hopped in without waiting, barely a backwards ‘thanks’ to Joe, his cheeks burning.

“You okay?”

He nodded, tight, trying not to let spill any comments about how excellent he was, how deliriously he good he was starting to feel now that he knew he was on his way to get what he needed. How his anxiety was melting away just thinking about it, replaced with anticipation.

“Gotta text him, call him. Let him know how much I—” he shut himself up. Iris didn’t need to hear that. He closed his eyes, wishing he could keep her from all this. It wasn’t fair to her, that despite how much he loved her, this curse was making him think he wanted anyone _but_ her.

“Let me,” she said, hand out for his phone. He put it into her hand and she cradled it in her shoulder, focused on the road but traffic was light and he wasn’t worried about that.

There was a beat of quiet, then, “…Iris, actually. Just calling from Barry’s phone.”

He glanced at her, watching her talk to Snart. He could _almost_ hear the man’s voice through it from here.

“His fever is… he’s pretty red. Where are you?” She waited. Barry tried not to stare at her too long or hard, to think about her with him and Snart, to think about Snart at all, really. “I’m not sure I should let him out of my sight. I’m on my way to STAR Labs—”

Barry made a noise of protest in his throat. “Just tell me where he is, I swear, I’ll just go to him, it’s fine.”

“I still have to run to the lab to get the cuffs. Unless I get Cisco to meet us there?”

“I promise I’ll be good,” Barry whispered and Iris shot him a doubtful look.

“He’s getting worse.”

He was, fuck. He sat back in his seat. The prospect of suffusing his senses with Snart again was making him lose control. Five days. Five was too many. Snart wasn’t even here and Barry was a mess.

“That works. I’ll see you soon.”

She handed Barry back his phone, call over. He caught it and opened his window for some fresh air. A minute later he managed to get out, “About that, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.”

He shook his head. It wasn’t, not really.

“You know that this—it has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I love you.”

“I know.” She still seemed tense and he had no idea how to fix it.

“I want you—”

“I _know_ ,” she laughed a little this time. “Trust me, Barr, you’ve made that plenty clear.”

He had, in his own way, making sure his sex life with her wouldn’t be negatively impacted even when he wasn’t waking up sweating in the middle of the night with need. His libido wasn’t really dampened by sleeping with Snart, and he wasn’t really sure if anything could ever stop him from wanting Iris, wanting to slide up her body and pepper it in kisses, lick and suck at the tender flesh of her breasts, tease the inside of her thighs until she was groaning in frustrating and clutching her hand into his hair for him to hurry up and—

He blew out a breath. “Shit, now I’m just fantasizing about you.”

She laughed fully this time. “ _Barr_!”

“Can’t help it.”

“I promise—tonight, after this, you and me. We can replay some of those 3am highlights?”

He hummed, pleased to his core in a calm, satisfied sort of way, too hot throughout but also warm all over. He was on his way to get what he needed. We wanted Iris, he wanted Snart. Right then, nothing felt more perfect or more simple.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous two, largely because I didn’t want to cut the next scene anywhere. If you follow me on tumblr you might’ve seen me complain about writing a smut scene? That scene is now starting the next chapter, not this one. Instead of finishing on that scene, I added more plot to this chapter and included a westallen scene instead of a coldflash one, partly because I didn’t want three chapters in a row ending on a different variant of a coldflash smut scene, and partly because Barry and Len have had the bulk of the attention so far. I wanted to round it out and do more to show how the team is actively trying to work on/against the curse, even though they’re out of their depth. 
> 
> Scientists approaching magic like they would science… gotta give them points for trying? But don’t expect anything scientific to cure or even help with this, really. Magic, as we’ll learn later, operates with different variables altogether. They’re playing a game of cards with a loaded deck and no knowledge of the rules, unfortunately. 
> 
> Anyway, next chapter will have a lot more of Len's PoV. :) There is...a lot of smut in the next chapter, actually. And then a bit of plot toward the end? The chapter after that will have more plot again though! Because the plot.... grew? I swear Amara Van Trost and the Book of Samael and all of that? Not part of the original story outline. Those things just... happened. When I asked myself questions like "so what was the witch even stealing that she ran into the Flash? A magic artifact is too Vandal Savage, what else?" and "how would they investigate that?" and so on. So... plot. Happened. Spiralled. Enjoy. 
> 
> As always comments are love <3


	4. Shackles

Leonard wasn’t surprised when he got a call, but he didn’t expect Iris’s voice on the other end of the line. She was three for three, really—always at Barry’s side for this dilemma of his. Not many women would be, Len knew. The jealousy would eat too many people up, or the disgust, not at her man being with another man (though there were enough that would judge for that too) but at what was happening. Barry couldn’t help it, but some people wouldn’t care.

That wasn’t Iris though. Len knew that. Knew none of Barry’s little friends could be measured on the same metrics as the criminals he brushed shoulders with on the daily.

Still, it was hard not to be impressed by her mettle, the figure she struck getting out of her little environmentally-sensible hatchback, long curls blowing in the breeze. She looked to Barry who’d stepped out then stilled, fists balled at his sides, obviously attempting to hold himself in check. He waited for Iris before walking closer.

“Couldn’t wait until this evening, Barry?” he teased when they were several feet away, unkindly maybe but he hated how little information he was flying with about Barry’s curse, how often this was really going to happen.

Iris had a hand on Barry’s back and her eyes fell on the cuffs dangling in Len’s hand. He’d told her he’d pick them up from the lab and he had. He also planned to keep them if he could wrangle it. Cuffs that could stop a speedster were an investment as far as he was concerned.

“You good, Barr?” she asked her boyfriend and Len pursed his lips, tired of giving them their privacy to play out this little drama in front of his eyes, watching impatiently instead.

Barry nodded, wrapping an arm around her, tucking his head overtop her hair. “I’m fine. Promise. Just hot. Just need to—” he stopped himself with a noise in his throat and Len got the impression he was about to say one of those deeply embarrassing things he did when he wasn’t in control. As far as Len was concerned, him biting it back was a step in the right direction.

“Okay,” Iris said quietly, almost too quietly for Len to hear. “I’ll meet you back at home?”

“Yeah,” Barry’s voice had a delicate rasp to it and seemed to shiver. Len felt a beat of surprise when he watched Barry pull back from their embrace to kiss Iris, deeper than any person really oughtta in a motel parking lot, hands framing her face, pulling her in and she went more than willingly.

Len meant to tear his eyes away. Not his business. Two beautiful twenty-somethings holding each other and kissing like the world depended on it in full daylight? They might be practically inviting onlookers but that didn’t mean he had to be one of them. But by the time Barry pulled back—Iris’s bottom lip sucked between his own before he finally relinquished it with a sigh like it pained him—Len was a little transfixed.

“You should…” Iris said vaguely, dark cheeks faintly flushed and holding on to Barry’s wrist.

As if on cue, reminded that Len was there, Barry’s eyes snapped to his, wide then lidded. “Yeah,” his voice was hot and Len was almost relieved neither of them were in a state to comment on his voyeurism.

He held out the cuffs before Barry could do anything dumb like try to kiss _him_ like that outside the motel room. Or inside it, for that matter. Iris was heading back to her car then, had her back turned, and Barry stepped up in front of him and took the cuffs, dropping to his knees to put them on and Len could honestly kill him.

“Get _up_ ,” he hissed, grabbing Barry by the arm to haul him to his feet.

“Why— _ah_ —” he stumbled but Len had his other hand on the doorknob to their room, pushing Barry inside and turning in time to see Iris finally turn, stopped at her car door, shooting him a worried nod before slipping inside. Len’s chest loosened by just a fraction and he closed the door of the room.

Barry was on him before he’d finished locking it.

He had Len’s back against the door lightning-fast, arms around his shoulders, nuzzling his neck, hot to the touch and—the kiss was deep, sudden, _hungry_. Len started at the speed he couldn’t track, pulled back and caught flashes of lightning alongside fever in Barry’s eyes, the blue sparks on his fingertips when Len pushed him back. He had one cuff on, the other half of the cuffs dangling from that wrist, but didn’t fight when Len grabbed his arm and snapped the cuff closed on it. He just sighed as the lightning seemed to leave him.

“ _Careful_ , Barry,” Len admonished, feeling like a single line of tension but Barry grinned, lazy and pleased.

“Anything for you.”

His voice was cold when he bit out, “let’s get this over with.”

Barry made a whining sound low in his throat, distilling the space between them again, cuffed hands still in Len’s grip even as he fisted his hands into Len’s sweater to get close enough to nuzzle his neck.

“ _Barry_ —”

“Let me suck you off,” Barry whispered, hot and low in his ear. His hands slid out of Len’s grip and moved south to cup him in his jeans, quick and certain. Len swore internally at how much his body responded to the gesture, knowing he really should have masturbated that morning or the day before but he’d been distracted by planning a heist. The way Barry was kissing his neck shouldn’t be doing what it was to him, heat shooting through his abdomen.

“Not necessary.”

“Please, Leonard—want— _fuck_ I want you so bad—”

“Enough,” Len growled, hands gripping his shoulders to push him off. “Get on the bed.”

“I need _more_ —”

He stilled. Maybe Barry _did_ need more. In order to break the curse. _Fuck_.

He sighed and leaned back, resting his head back against the door, glancing around the room before flicking his eyes to Barry, hands still carefully tight on his shoulders. “What’d’you need?”

At the very least, in this state, he was sure to get an honest answer from the other man. In a sense, it was easier because of that, messy as this was becoming. Easier to disconnect the desperate, whining man in front of him from Barry Allen than it had been last time, when he still had the wherewithal to quip and blush and pretend he was feeling normal.

“ _You_ —gotta make you feel good, anything you want—want you inside me, wanna make you cum, swallow your cock and—”

He quirked his eyebrow. “Would that work for this? Me cumming in your mouth?”

The other man’s pupils were blown so wide his irises were thin rings. “Let me try?”

He was flying as blind as Len was. He tilted his head to the side. “Problem _is_ , Barry, if it doesn’t help, we’re stuck here till I can go again.”

Barry grinned, fever-happy, moved forward to kiss Len’s neck and he let him, hands sliding down to Barry’s sides. “Then I’ll keep sucking.”

Fuck. Len shivered. Tempting. But this was getting out of control. “When you’re lucid, we can talk about our options.” Barry whined, rolling his hips against Len, the hard length of his cock pressed into Len’s hip.

“ _Leonard_ —”

“Bed, now.”

Barry started moving back toward it, pulling Len along with him, still kissing his neck. His hands flexed on Barry’s sides. “Enough, Barry, or I’m tying you to the headboard.” If only for his own sanity.

The moan he got wasn’t expected but maybe should’ve been, Barry all but panting against him. He gave up Len’s neck, hands convulsing on the front of his sweater.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispered again, but thank god he stopped trying to drag Len down onto the bed. Still, Len really didn’t need the mental image of Barry tied up and waiting for him.

“Just—get naked,” he stepped out of Barry’s reach, watching as the other man hurried to comply, amused his shirts got caught around his cuffs again, though he seemed to care less this time. Len turned away to pull out the lube and condom, shucked his boots and turned back to Barry. He was stretching out on his back on the bed, naked with his arms above his head.

“Come on,” he whispered, “come on Leonard—can’t wait, need you.”

He swallowed, throat suddenly try. He’d tried not to stare before, not let his gaze linger on Barry in any way that wasn’t necessary, but the way he was stretched out wasn’t making it easy. His skin was flushed, light sheen of sweat on his neck and around his temples, eyes glazed and Len averted his own gaze away from his face. Barry’s cock was hard and thick and pointing up, obscene.

“Roll over.”

Barry groaned even as he complied, onto his knees. “Want to see you—kiss you—”

“You don’t, so stop asking for it.” He warned, pulling his jacket off. Now Barry’s ass was on display.

“I _do_ —” he practically moaned the words, “I want you, Leonard. Want you so bad. Wanna see you get hot for me, watch you when you cum.”

 _Goddamn_. He really was out of it again. Len forced himself to remember that and sat between Barry’s stretched out legs. He prepped him without thinking too much, fingers disappearing into the tight heat, his free hand pulling out his own throbbing cock from where it was pressed too tight to the inside of his jeans. Barry was trying to be quiet, biting into the fabric of his shirts again to stifle his moans but they were still plenty audible to Len, figuring out exactly what made Barry feel good.

Not that that line of thinking was helpful.

He pulled his fingers out, slicking Barry’s entrance with a little more lube than was strictly necessary because he was cheap on the prep, knew the other man could take it anyway. He moved back to grab and roll the condom on and Barry took the opportunity to roll over onto his back, getting his legs to frame Len.

He levelled the other man with a glare. Or, tried to. It was hard when he could see how flushed Barry’s face was, lips red and parted, eyes lidded.

“Wanna see you.”

“Ba— _mmf_ —”

Barry sat up, fluid and sinuous and fast despite it, cuffed arms slipping over Len’s head like an embrace. It was sudden, his mouth still open when Barry gripped tight to the back of his sweater and pulled him in for another kiss.

Len stilled. Barry’s skin felt hot like burning at every point of contact, enough to make him sweat. His hands hovered uselessly and Barry moaned into his mouth, making his cock throb. Len didn’t pull away. He started kissing back, something tight and warm in his stomach twisting up inside of him, tongue sliding into Barry’s mouth. Barry slid in closer until Len took his waist and rolled them forward, got Barry on his back. It only took a second for the other man’s legs to wrap tight around his waist, thick muscles like a vice, no chance he was going to let Len go unless he got pushy and he was damn tired of arguing, cock snug against Barry’s ass now, eager and thinking for itself with Barry grinding against him.

God, he was going to regret this. He already did.

He pulled back from the kiss, pulled his tongue out of Barry’s mouth and ignored his whine. A moment later he was pressing his cock into Barry, into slick heat as tight and strong as the grip Barry’s legs had around him. It pulsed around him, greedy and good enough he was gasping.

“ _Fuck_ , Leonard—” Barry panted next to his ear and _god_ he was tight, clamping down as Len stretched him out, pushed in a little deeper. “Yes, god, _more_ —”

Len shoved his face into Barry’s neck (no way he was making eye contact for this). He held his next groan in check until Barry rocked his hips up and swallowed more of Len into his body, so hot inside. Then he couldn’t help it, the noise he made, half wishing the floor would swallow them both whole and half wishing Barry’s body didn’t feel so goddamn _perfect_ as he started to thrust.

“Need you—please— _fuck, Leonard—yes_!”

“Keep it down or” he was going to go insane “— _ah_ —you’re back on your knees.”

Barry groaned and rolled himself forward and buried his face into Len’s shoulder, teeth gripping the fabric. Fuck, that should not turn him on more. But he was quickly losing control, everything too hot—Barry’s skin, Barry’s flushed cock where it pressed against Len’s stomach, his shirts rucked up from Barry’s legs, the friction where he moved inside of Barry—and everything was urgent—their panted breaths, punched out with each thrust, the needy whines Barry made, arching up against him. He groaned into Barry’s skin, senses distilling to the tight clench around his cock.

Barry’s legs moved higher, stretched and got them up around Len’s ribs, ankles locked and _fuck_ that angle made him so incredibly tight around Len’s cock, pulled him in so deep. He drilled in faster and harder, hands tight around Barry’s middle, holding him in place so that Len could control the pace, could take what he needed. He needed—fuck he _wanted_ —

“L-Leonard, please, g- _od_ — _ah_ —” He was grinding his ass into each thrust with the fraction of leverage he had, cock hard and leaking where it pressed against Len’s stomach. “God you’re so—need you so bad you’re—”

He was getting close to orgasm, Barry’s voice at his ear pulling him out of the chase—

“—so good, Leonard, so sexy, _touch me_ please fucking touch me please I wanna—”

Len growled low in his throat, would need to pull back to even attempt to touch to the other man but Barry wouldn’t let him pull away by an inch, hands digging into his back, ankles locked tight, their bodies aligned from shoulder to hip with no space between them.

“—need to cum, Leon—Lenny—need you so ba— _mffff_ —”

Len stuck two fingers in his mouth to shut him up, unable to squeeze a hand between them and unwilling to kiss his way to orgasm. Barry arched against him, body tightening like a bow and almost shaking, muscles taught and his lips wrapped around Len’s fingers and he _sucked_. The feeling shot straight to his cock and it throbbed when Barry moaned around the digits, tongue sliding along them. Len—fuck—he snapped his hips into Barry, aggressive and slamming into that tight wet _hot—_ he was—

He moaned into the sweaty, salty skin of Barry’s neck, panting out his release in tortuous rolls of his hips, spilling inside Barry. He shuddered with each wave, pulsing inside Barry, twitching as he finally slowed, halfway collapsed onto him. He didn’t move for a minute, exhausted, coming down.

His fingers slid out of Barry’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Barry whispered next to his ear, voice shot.

Len swallowed. Double fuck. He was still inside Barry, still breathing heavy into his neck and still on top of him. They were holding on to each other too tight, Barry’s cuffed arms keeping him in place, hands tight in the fabric of his rucked up sweater.

Barry’s cock was still hot and hard and slick with too much precum where it pressed against his stomach.

“You—” Len wasn’t even sure what he was going to ask first but Barry was already responding.

“Me again, yeah.” He let out an awkward laugh but hadn’t moved yet. Len shifted slightly with relief and Barry gasped, swallowed. “Sorry,” it was mostly croaked.

“You gonna let me up?”

“ _Right_. Shit.” He swallowed but he let go, finally, untangling his hands from Len’s shirt, lifting his linked wrists back over Len’s head, unwrapping his legs from Len so he could move back.

They were never using this position again.

He diligently avoided eye contact when he pulled out, gripping the base of the condom and wishing that didn’t bring his hand so close to Barry’s flushed cock, knuckles accidentally grazing his balls and earning a quiet sound in the back of Barry’s throat before he was out and off the other man, beating fast toward the bathroom.

He cleaned himself up, glaring at his reflection for a moment in the mirror, daring himself to say something about what had just transpired. His cheeks were still flushed, sweat cooling on his neck and under his clothes. His eyes looked too bright. He turned and left the bathroom.

Barry was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking awkward with his shirts back on but rumpled, cuffs in place still, pulling on underwear. Len looked away, moving to the end of the bed to pull on his boots, willfully not thinking about how Barry hadn’t cum.

“You’ve got the key for these cuffs, right?” Barry asked after a minute and Len glanced at him where he was standing to do up his pants, movements ginger. Somehow, this was more awkward than the other times.

“I do.” He finished his boots and pulled out the key, standing before Barry to undo the cuffs himself. He didn’t let them go. “And I’ll be keeping these.”

Barry’s eyes flashed to his. “You—”

He arched an eyebrow and Barry closed his mouth with a snap.

“Right. Fine. Guess you _would_ angle for some speedster proof cuffs, wouldn’t you?”

It was almost normal, the annoyed tilt to his head, the way he stood taller again, falling into the rhythm, kinetic energy returning back to his body as he shook his head, a little scathing.

“Figure they might come in handy.” Len drawled, insinuating. One of these days he and Barry were bound to be on the opposite side of a heist gone wrong, after all. He stepped back to glance at his prize, turning them over in his hands, curious how exactly they did what they did. “Are they only for speedsters?”

“Any metas.” Barry ran his hand through his hair, the other on his hip. “And they need to be charged, any usb plug will do. Don’t get too many ideas, though.”

“Wouldn’t _dream_ of it.”

Barry snorted but settled back onto the side of the bed to pull on his shoes, wincing. Len wondered how fast Barry’s healing erased the soreness. Part of him felt cheated that Barry’s body wouldn’t hold on to the sensations, most of him felt the urge to hit something for even thinking that.

He changed the conversation. “Any leads on your witch?”

“One of Joe’s informants turned him onto this cult that he thinks she might be involved with? Something about them doing group summoning spells and weird stuff like that? I’m gonna hear more about it over dinner tonight.”

“Think a witch with real power is gonna be attracted to a cult?”

He shrugged. “Troubled young women are sorta their M.O.”

“What’s it called?” Len gathered up his jacket. He had other questions, but a lead was as good as anything to discuss.

“The Church of The Goddess Circe.”

“Never heard’ve it.”

Barry stood again. “I’ll let you know if we find anything before next time.”

Len eyed him. Barry hesitated.

“What?”

His voice dropped its colder edge when he asked, “how many times is this gonna happen, Barry?”

Red crept up the skin of his neck. “I’m so—”

“ _Spare_ me.”

He had that frustrated jut to his jaw again but then lost it, sighed and paced a step back, looked away. “Look, I have no idea. We have no clue how else to break it so until we track down that witch…this is gonna happen every couple days.”

Len hummed. Lovely. “What happened to the moon phases being every seven?”

Barry explained their truncated six-day timeline, realistically shorter if he wanted to be halfway-functioning, and Len winced.

“Fantastic.”

“Yeah.” Barry scratched the back of his head. “What uh—if we don’t find the witch in the next four, what are your thoughts on not waiting till day five next time?”

Len crossed his arms, leaning against the small dresser in the room, thinking. “Five means we do this less often.”

“Yeah, I—yeah.”

It also meant Barry had noticeably less control. Less capacity for anything approaching consent. Len cast around for something reasonable.

“We do five again. It’s too much ‘n we’ll try it your way after that.”

Barry’s eyes snapped up to his. “Right, thanks.”

“’N hopefully there won’t _be_ a time after that anyway. Or a next time.” He moved on before Barry could attempt to apologize again. “Any luck with Van Trost?”

“Joe says she’s hiding something. He and Cisco think she might be connected to the witch somehow, they’re setting up a stake out for her place. I think I might help, now that I’m…” He waved vaguely. Len got it.

“I’ll put some feelers out about your little cult and her, let you know how it goes.”

If Barry was surprised by his generosity, he didn’t show it, just nodded seriously.

“Anything else I can do for you, Leonard?”

Ah, the first names were still out. He tilted his head, questions still swimming in his head. Would Barry want to try the blowjob route next time? Should they attempt something else? Did he even _want_ Len to get him off when they did this or was this better? But when he opened his mouth, the speedster cuffs heavy in his pocket, the only thing that came out was: “not in the immediate present.”

“Then I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

 

[ … ]

 

Barry had been mortified.

There was something so much worse about coming down from that haze with Leonard inside him when he hadn’t cum himself. He could feel it, the immediate difference once Leonard was finished, the way he wasn’t drunk on the man anymore, but that didn’t stop his libido. Nothing stopped how bad he was aching to cum, or how _full_ he felt, how much he’d wanted to grind himself down on the other man and _finish._ How he’d almost asked for it when Leonard moved to pull out, had grazed him.

He couldn’t blame _that_ on the curse. That was all him, horny and edged, aching for release.

He forced his erection away enough to get his clothes back on after, put it out of his mind while talking to the man, but wasted no time getting home afterward. God, he needed to get off. He sped in, a little surprised at how long he’d been out, really, and Iris was there, tapping away at her laptop and listening to music when he got in.

“Barr?” she looked up to greet him, her eyebrows climbing when she caught sight of him across the living room. He wondered just how sexed out he looked, how messy his hair was. He flushed a little. “Hey, you uh—”

“I’m good—just really need a shower,” his laugh came out a little strangled and he dragged a hand through his hair, motioning in that direction. Iris was already coming over, laptop forgotten.

“No chance you’re cured yet?”

“Don’t think so. This time was—” so different than the times before “—pretty much the same.”

She cupped his face, looking worried and he held her hand against his skin, tilting into it and closing his eyes, letting it soothe him. His frustration, his exhaustion, those always melted away at her touch. But her skin against his wasn’t helping with the arousal, feeling himself starting to get hard again in his jeans.

“You’re warm.”

“’m fine, really. Just…”

“Just?”

“Didn’t… cum.” He admitted, wanting to lie to her but not wanting to worry her even more with how strange he was acting, hating that he couldn’t find anything better than the truth to soothe her.

“Oh. _Oh_. You normally—never mind, I—”

His eyes flew open. “Shit, I shouldn’t have—”

“No it’s—I’m happy. That you, uh—if it feels… I’m just glad if it helps you,” she landed on, teeth grazing her lip a little.

It was awkward. Talking about it was awkward and part of him wanted to explain but he couldn’t bear it, how she might look at him differently if she knew, how betrayed she might feel, the betrayal that was his own libido.

“Yeah it—it doesn’t hurt, I swear,” he promised instead of explaining. He got sore, including his wrists, but not in a way he minded. “The state I’m in when it happens, I…”

“It’s okay, Barr. I promise.”

He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers. “I love you.”

“You too.”

He closed the gap, couldn’t help it, kissing her. She inhaled against his lips then leaned into it, pressing her body against his. Her breasts pressed against him, her thighs right against his, every part of her, and he had his arms around her in an instant, cock stirring, still so unsatisfied. His tongue pressed into her mouth and met with hers, deep like he was aching for, the kind of kiss he was craving. She kissed back like she needed it just as bad, her hand raked through his hair, making him shiver down his spine. His hands slid up the back of her shirt.

“Want you,” he mouthed against her jaw, her neck, and she tilted it back for him. He grabbed her ass, pulled her hips flush against his erection, grinding into her. “Need you.”

“ _Barry_ —”

She moved her hands down to cup his ass too and he groaned against her neck, insides clenching around nothing, wanting something to fill him.

“Want—” he bit it off, moved to kiss her again.

“Want?” Her teeth gently pulled at his lip. “What’d you want, Barry?”

He shivered again, hand cupping her head to tilt it, to kiss her again. “Nothing. Just this.”

She hummed and leaned back a little, catching his eye, her own devious and too smart. “I know you, Barry Allen. Let me give you whatever it is you want.”

The hand still on her ass pulled at the cute skirt she was wearing, smoothed out over her skin he found under it. Fuck it. “Would you finger me?”

Her eyes widened and he tried not to regret asking in the space of the second that it took for her to smother her surprise, for a slow smile to spread across her face. “You like that?”

“Yeah. Even before, I—it’s always felt good.” His aching cock pressed to her front should be proof enough. She raked her nails down his chest, overtop his shirt.

“Mmm, my fingernails might get in the way—” She held them up, long with fresh paint, “but I think I have something that’ll be even better.”

“Oh?” now he was feeling a little devious too, relaxing, settling his hands on her hips with a bit of a grin. “Should I be worried?”

“Why’d you think I wanted to unpack some of my own boxes myself?”

He laughed, “so how many sex toys do you have, exactly?”

“Come and find out.”

He did, following her to the bedroom, curls bouncing behind her and he was a little giddy with this new revelation. They hadn’t been together all that long, not really. It felt like forever (in the best of ways), with so many years of history, but their first date hadn’t been until July, after he had had some time to grieve his father, and here they were in September still figuring out so much more about each other, living together. Of course she’d have kinks he didn’t know about yet, but he was not complaining in the slightest.

Her toy collection wasn’t ridiculous, nothing intimidating even though he didn’t own any himself, but he teased her about the small vibrator anyway, knowing his own vibrational powers were one of her favorite surprises he’d had up his sleeve.

“Let’s use…this.” She held up what looked like a butt plug and he grinned.

“Really?” he asked, taking it in hand. It was a bit smaller than the beads he was eyeing (and the fact that Iris owned them was opening up a very exciting world of prospects for him).

“It vibrates too.”

Oh. Oh hell yes.

He agreed to give it a shot, and it wasn’t long before they were both naked, kissing, her holding his jaw, licking into his mouth him once she got him on his back. He had his fingers inside of her as long as she let him but she was as impatient as he was, moving down, out of his reach, kissing his nipples on the way. He was mindful, suddenly, of the fact that he still hadn’t showered. That there was precum dried on his own stomach, right under her fingers, and that he did— _must_ —still smell like sex, like Snart.

She didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it was egging her own, making her eager as she dragged the toy down his skin, stroked his cock just enough to tease. “I’ll grab some lube.”

He swallowed, fingers trailing down her arm. “Probably don’t really need… much. Any.” He was still slick and the toy wasn’t big, nowhere near as big as Snart was.

“ _Oh_.”

He flushed, not sure about bringing up Snart right now, all things considered, but he wasn’t gonna be able to feel a thing if the toy slipped out of him from too much lube either. Iris didn’t hesitate for long though, fingers sliding down experimentally, pads of them pressing against his entrance and he shifted his knees up to give her better access.

“Wow,” she breathed and circled his rim and he—god he _wanted_. “You really are wet.”

He let out a strangled laugh, “yeah.”

Her fingers retreated and he felt it, the small plastic head of the toy. He closed his eyes and hissed in a breath as it slid inside.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.” He swallowed, rocking his hips. “Feels good.”

He’d never really expected to let her see him like this, wanting to take, but at the same time he was so glad they were here—because this? This was something he didn’t even know he was craving until the second he had it. Iris kissed his thigh and turned on the toy and he let out a loud, devastated sound, arching up.

“ _Fuck_ —”

“Too much?”

“No—don’t—god don’t stop it it’s right against my—” He moaned again, reaching down to get a hand around himself but Iris caught it and intertwined their fingers. He glanced up at her, needy.

“Iris—”

“Can I—god, can I ride you like this, Barr? You look so—”

Oh he was so on board with that. He didn’t even respond with words, just grabbed her thigh and helped her move into place. The vibrator hummed against his prostate, flared base keeping it snug and in place and he moaned when Iris got one leg on either side of his hips and lined herself up, sliding _slowly_ down onto his cock. She gripped the base and he gripped her thighs, gasping, pulling himself back from the edge he was on.

“God, Barry—”

“Feels so good, Iris—”

She moaned, letting go to take him up to the hilt, slick inner walls clamping tight and warm and so inviting around him. He was going to go insane trying not to cum too fast, thrusting up in shallow rolls to meet the rhythm of her hips. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, the shape of her breasts, the flush to her skin, hand tangled up in her own hair, the other sliding between her legs to tease at her clit.

“Let me,” he murmured, sliding his thumb to her instead, gathering up wetness and stroking. She moaned, clamping tighter on him, and that only made him clamp tighter on the toy, moaning a half second beyond her, thrusting up into her. They went like that in a cycle, building on each other and he was holding on by the skin of his teeth only because she was so goddamn perfect on top of him, around him, but there was no way he could last. He tried, getting high on the feeling of her, the smell of them together, but the sensations inside and around him were too much by a mile, the clamp of her thighs and the sound of her sigh.

“ _Iris, gonna_ —” he gasped out, feeling it overtake him moments later, arching into her, so tight around the toy he thought _he_ might be vibrating. He groaned when it hit, pumping her full of cum, thrusting deep enough that she was the one shouting, rocking hard onto each thrust.

He took a second to come down from his high and then he had her on her back lightning-quick. He pulled the toy out of himself, unimportant now, and pressed two fingers inside her, tongue lapping then targeted, circling her clit building her higher on the sensations from a second ago. She was panting loud and desperate, thighs thrown over his shoulders, tightening around his head in a lock and he tasted himself on her, in her, holding on to her hips as she arched into his face and screamed out her orgasm.

It was a minute before either of them managed to come up with cogent words. Barry had his head rested on her thigh, boneless.

“We…” Iris sounded breathless. “Are gonna be late for dinner.”

He was still giggling ten minutes later when he finally went to shower.

 

[ … ]

 

“Lenny?” Lisa's voice came over the line.

“Hey Sis. You busy tomorrow?”

There was a pause then, “nothing I can’t clear. But I thought we had nothing for the next two months… what sort of trouble are you planning Lenny?” Her voice carried a smile and he smirked on his own end of the line.

“Something… _flashy_.”

“ _Oooh_. In that case, I’m looking forward to it.”

Mick had said the same thing.

He told her to drop by his workshop first thing in the morning and ended the call, staring down at the anti-speedster cuffs he'd just acquired. With any luck, he wouldn’t need them. If he did… so be it. Either way, this venture was a win-win. At the very least, he was going to have a fun heist, something bold and over the top like he’d been itching to do for a while. If anything more worked out in his favor, so be it.

 

[ … ]

 

Going to dinner at Joe’s house was almost a relief. It was a slice of normal to help counteract the day. Between the fever haze and the distraction at work, how frustratingly _useless_ he felt trying to track down this witch as the Flash, and the copious amounts of sex that had filled his last twenty-four hours, having a nice family dinner was the type of normal Barry hadn’t realized he missed. An even footing.

At least for a minute.

“So how’s Central City’s finest superhero?” Wally grinned at him across the table over dinner. He was back in school now with the semester starting and was so busy with his classes that he hadn’t been to STAR Labs much at all, especially not with a crime-quiet month.

Which was why Barry suddenly realized he knew nothing about the witch, or Snart, did he? None of them were especially good at the grapevine thing.

“I’m… good,” Barry landed on, trying not to be awkward.

“Just good?” Wally passed him the potatoes.

“Just a witch situation.”

“A _witch_?”

Joe winced on Barry’s behalf. “Metahuman powers were bad enough, now we’ve got witches and wizards running around.”

“No way, nuh uh. Magic’s just science—”

“—that we don’t understand yet. Yeah, Caitlin and Cisco said the same thing.” Barry smiled a little fond. “But what she does might as well be Harry Potter levels of magic for all we understand none of it.”

“Oh yeah? What’d she do?”

The others looked at him. Barry had definitely walked right into this one.

 

[ … ]

 

“Hey Iris?”

“Mm?” she looked over her shoulder at her brother, bringing over a few more dishes for her to clean. He grabbed a drying rag. Barry was out on a call from the lab, sped off before he even got dessert, an armed robbery in progress. Not that he’d seemed to mind the distraction after the strained conversation over dinner, her Dad trying to be optimistic about spellbooks and leads while Barry got quiet and stewed in his own frustration again.

“I wanna help. With Barry, I mean. This curse.”

She sighed. If only. “I don’t think anyone _but_ Snart can help him at this point. Trust me, I wish I could do more too.”

“Dad said this witch was part of a cult, right? Targets young people?”

“…and?” she glanced sidelong at him, passing him a bowl to dry.

“And that’s our in! We go to this church and pretend to be—I don’t know, down on our luck or whatever. Sister and brother in need of some help.”

“Dad would kill me if I let you wander in to a cult.”

“Kill you—it’s my idea!”

She smirked, “but _I’m_ the reporter. At least I have an excuse. He’s used to worrying about me.”

He scowled at her in a good-natured way. “You know I’m going with you.”

She shouldn’t be surprised they’d both had the same train of thought, not really. She’d spent the entire time Barry was with Snart looking up what she could on this cult and how to find them. “We do this and you have to follow my lead.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Wally. I know you like hopping into your fast car to knock over metas and help the Flash but this is different. This is careful investigation and _magic_.”

“All right all right, I’ll follow your lead. We’ll have each other’s back.”

“All right.” She nodded. “They meet in two days—”

“You already knew!”

“ _Shhh_ —do you _want_ Dad to find out?” She glanced at the door of the kitchen before continuing. “Dad told Cisco who told me that his CI said this cult promises to teach magic to their devoted followers so I looked it up. Cisco’s pretty skeptical but I trust Dad’s gut. Since Cisco couldn’t find much online I figured I’d have a look and then, why not check them out? I _am_ a fan of on-the-ground investigation.”

“You’re real proud of yourself aren’t you?” he asked at her excited, whispered explanation.

She smacked his arm. “Just for that, you’re washing. Hand over the drying rag.”

 

[ … ]

 

Robbing a bank wasn’t necessarily difficult. You could waltz in, weapon in hand, and demand money (sans blue dye pellets thank you very much), or access to the vault, or a safety deposit box or twenty. Whatever you were in the mood for, and they’d give it to you.

The robbery was easy, always. No one tried to stop you. They were trained not to, to not play the hero. They knew that most of the money was insured. That it was a PR fiasco if someone died. Not that most tellers wanted to lay their life on the line for someone’s else money at a job that wasn’t paying them half so well as they deserved, but still, their training to _not_ intervene didn’t hurt. Their security was easy to dismantle. The people in the bank, casual citizens, normally wanted to be anywhere but there. The worst you’d get is someone on their phone trying to call the cops, but then, Len didn’t really care about that and didn’t waste time taking their phones either. He knew the police response time the second someone hit a silent alarm and didn’t like wasting any precious seconds when it would take twice as long for an average citizen to get a call through dispatch anyway.

No, all of that was easy as candy from a baby. Getting away was the tricky part.

That was the part that required second to second timing, multiple getaway cars, a seasoned driver, and maybe a hostage or three for good measure on a bad day.

Good thing Len had a plan. Now all he had to do, amidst the chaos and shouts and quivering bystanders, was wait for—

“Flash. So nice of you to join us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished up that last scene a little quick because I'm busy but anyway, it was kind of fun to leave this on a completely different type of cliffhanger. 
> 
> Also, Len robbing a bank - totally not planned, like, at all. But I got the impression people wanted to see more of Len and his PoV and I wanted a way to bring in his personal network (Lisa and Mick) so when I was trying to come up with a satisfactory way to cap off the chapter and asking myself what Len would do with his pent up frustration with the situation, "rob something" really seemed like the most likely answer. (And he's got a bit of a larger plan here related to the curse, sort of, but he mostly doesn't care if it works, he's just pissed off at life rn).
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the (copious) smut :) As always, comments are love!


	5. Candlelight

Ninety seconds. That’s how long Len had estimated before the Flash arrived. He was off by three—Barry was in top form today, apparently. That kind of time was acceptable when dealing with a speedster though. Mick and Lisa should be almost done in the vault.

He didn’t waste any time sending a blast of ice Barry’s way, since he was so magnanimous as to stand still in the doorway with a shocked expression. He dodged it of course, sped around Len and he followed him with the gun as best he could. Unsurprisingly, Barry got any potential bystanders out of the line of fire of his gun and then stopped with a shout.

“There are _innocent people here_ , Cold!”

“You seem to be doing just fine, Flash.”

A blast of fire caught Barry in the side and Len almost winced. The remaining witnesses shouted and dived for cover. Mick and Lisa were done in the vault and already making their way over. Barry was on his feet again and Lisa was blasting in his direction.

“Mick, Lisa—the plan!”

“On it, boss,” Mick grunted.

Lisa blew the Flash a kiss, getting on her bike. It didn’t hurt that they’d literally driven their bikes in through the front door. That had been the only truly dangerous part of this plan, at least as far as he was concerned, and even it went off without a hitch. Watching them load up, Len kept his gun trained on Barry and kept him busy, got a nice ring of ice around the entire place.

The cops were thirty seconds out yet. They were still under four minutes total.

“C’mon!” Mick shouted, gun raised and Len took his shot the second he had cover, dived for his own bike.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” He shouted over the noise once he revved up his engine and Lisa led the way out of the makeshift door they’d made on their way in. Len picked up the stream against Barry the second Mick lowered his gun, and then all three of them were out the side of the building.

They kept their guns up and the three of o them split up a half block later. It was all in the plan. He already knew who Barry would follow anyway, hence why he sent the goods with them instead. Hopefully they didn’t have too much issue with the CCPD, but then, they seldom did anymore.

He didn’t even make it two more blocks before he felt it, the whirlwind, the jerk behind his navel and the sudden vertigo-inducing lurch before the world blurred into lightning and color. He was back on his feet before his body really figured out it was off the ground, took a step to right himself, swallowing around the vertigo.

“Well well, if it isn’t the Scarlet Speedster.” He pulled down his goggles after a moment. “How d’you do?”

“What the _hell_ , Snart?”

He got his gun back out of its holster and looked around. He was almost amused, tilted his head. “A _rooftop_?” He chided.

“There were innocent people in that bank!”

“And no one got hurt,” Len raised a gloved finger in his direction. “I followed the rules.”

“They didn’t get hurt because of me!”

He shrugged. “I took you into account. If you hadn’t shown up, we would’ve been out of there faster—no harm, no foul.”

“And what if I was too slow to save some of them?”

“You’re _not_.”

Barry was in his space, lightning eyes, fists in his jacket. “This wasn’t in our deal.”

The metahuman cuffs were heavy at his side, strapped to his belt. Len narrowed his eyes, finger on the trigger of his cold gun instead of using them yet. But he let it dangle, still, leaning back from Barry.

“Even if it _wasn’t_ , it wouldn’t matter—you plan to throw me in the Heights?”

“I just _might_ —”

Len chuckled, pulling out of his grip and taking a step back, keeping himself detached. “And what—break me out in three days? Or did you think a conjugal visit wouldn’t turn any heads?” Not that Iron Heights allowed any conjugal visitation but it didn’t need to be said, Barry was already wide-eyed, stepping away as he did the math.

“I thought so.” Len felt vindicated, a little cruel. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my bike before someone decides to tow it.”

“What the hell is your angle here, Snart?”

“ _Money_ , Barry. It’s not complicated.” He had steam to blow off.

“This was reckless and showy and you haven’t pulled a stunt like this since we made our deal.”

He hummed, glancing out over the city. Not a bad view, he almost idly wondered what building they were on. And how Barry had got them up here. Did he run up the _side_? With Len in tow?

“Snart?”

“Don’t believe my motives are any of your business.”

“Then what do you expect me to do? Just—what, _not_ try to stop you?”

“The way I see it, I’ve got the run of the city till you don’t need me.”

He noticed Barry’s hands shaking and narrowed his eyes. The man was angry. Good.

“Are you serious?”

He smirked. “When am I not?”

“Fine,” Barry snapped, looking ready for a fight. Len was too. “I can’t drop you in the Heights. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you get away with stealing like this, with hostages. You’re better than that, Snart. I’m not gonna let you get away with endangering people, or let your friends get away with the goods next time.”

Len hummed. “Your whole curse is about giving me what I want, isn’t it Barry?” A little anger seeped into his expression and he knew it, curling himself forward, moving back into Barry’s space. “What if this is what I ask?”

That stilled him. Len glanced at Barry’s face, little more than a step away now, cataloguing the apprehension there.

“Is it?”

“Right now? Yes.”

He doubted this was going to work. Nothing like a good old college try though.

Barr’s jaw was tense, seeming to steel himself. His eyes closed for a second then he nodded, slow, once. “Okay. _Fine_. But don’t drag anyone else into this. No hostages. No show. I can’t pretend not to notice if you’re on breaking news.”

“You’re missing the _point_ , Barry. You’re not giving anything up if you’re putting conditions on it like that. This is about _submission_.”

Barry pushed his cowl off his head, expression forlorn. “You’re asking me to do something I can’t, Snart. I _won’t._ ”

“Try it.”

Barry caught him by surprise then, grabbed his jacket again and pulled Len in, one hand going to the back of his head and—

He inhaled sharply against Barry’s lips. The cold gun almost slipped out of his hand, he was so surprised at the movement. Barry moved as if to pull back but then tilted his head and kissed Len deeper, more meaning to it, open-mouthed and Len kissed him back for all of a second. Three seconds. It didn’t last more than five.

Then Barry jerked back, reeling, back of his hand to his lips, looking as shocked as Len felt.

“I can’t,” he whispered eventually, voice harsh.

“Still cursed then.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you in a few days, Barry.”

Barry was gone. Len watched the lightning streak—definitely down the side of the building and was he _insane_ —and through the streets into the distance.

A minute later, after enjoying the view, he realized it. He was still stuck on the roof. Shit. He sighed and pulled out his phone to call Lisa. At least she’d get a kick out of locating him.

 

[ … ]

 

“Please tell me you didn’t just say what I think you said,” Iris raised her eyebrows at Cisco.

“I just mean—back me up, Cait!”

Iris sent an incredulous stare in Barry’s direction, because at least _he_ had to be on her side. Barry was gnawing on his thumb, staring intently forward, oblivious. She rolled her eyes. Caitlin was talking.

“There’s no physiological merit for it.”

“Come _on_ —B?” Cisco was looking for support.

“Well I’m on board,” her dad said, surprising all of them.

“You are?” Cisco was the first to ask.

“Yeah what?” Iris added. Barry shot him a dubious look too and Caitlin was frowning.

“Hell yeah I am. Snart’s trying solutions that don’t involve violating Barry—I don’t _like_ the bank robbery angle, but I’m definitely all for that.”

“See? Thank you!” Cisco used his whole hand to gesture at her dad, clearly thinking he’d proved his point.

“I think you’re overestimating his altruism,” Barry scowled. Iris’s eyebrows knit together when she glanced at him. She was trying not to think about the fact that he’d kissed Snart. She wished the comms weren’t on for that. She really, really wished she hadn’t heard it.

Just a crackle, an inhale, the sound of wet—

Caitlin really hadn’t needed to inform her that his heartbeat was elevated. It didn’t _mean_ anything. It was a curse, forcing Barry to act outside of his own control, and not _him_. Knowing it was a curse didn’t help much though, and didn’t mean she had to like it.

“It didn’t work anyway,” Iris added. She glanced around when their eyes landed on her. “I’m just saying—I don’t think Snart decided to rob a bank to cure Barry and if he did, he didn’t go about it all that well.”

“Do you think if you’d given in…?” Cisco asked and Iris quelled him with a glare. Barry dragged a hand down his face.

“I don’t know. I almost wish I could but I—I can’t write him a blank cheque to endanger innocent lives. Not even with this curse.”

“It’s okay, Barr,” Iris said, because someone had to.

“Cisco,” her dad said, refocusing the room. “How’s our stakeout on Van Trost?”

“So far so good!”

“Who’s watching her house?”

He hit a few buttons on the screen and some footage popped up. Damn, her mansion was _nice_.

“How’d you do that?”

“Stakeout camera.”

“What if she leaves the house?”

“We followed her yesterday to her—what was it, tennis lessons?”

“Cisco.”

“I got it,” Barry cut in. “I should take a turn anyway. I’ll keep an eye on Van Trost for the evening. You guys see if you can come up with anything else on witches or curses?”

“Sounds good, man,” Cisco pointed in his direction.

He kissed Iris goodbye on his way out the door, a fleeting whisper against her lips, a little static electricity. She was sad to see him go but…

“I’ve got some research to do for a story. I’ll see you all later?”

She wasn’t sad to have room to operate. She had to prep for her first meeting with a member of the Church of the Goddess Circe the next night.

 

[ … ]

 

Len was nursing a much-deserved drink. The spoils of a good heist.

Life used to be different, before the Flash, before metahumans and Captain Cold. Pulling off a successful heist meant laying low with the goods, spending it slow and wise. That’s how amateurs got caught, flashing their cash around after a job well done. No job with _him_ was complete until the cool down period was up.

These days, he busted into a bank in broad daylight with his best friend and sister under a criminal alias that the entire city knew. There was no pretending it wasn’t him, even if all they’d taken out all the surveillance at the bank at the outset of the job. He’d done it to himself, stepped into the spotlight, not much room to complain. But he still felt an itch up his spine watching Mick buy a round for the bar, everyone celebrating their success.

But the cops couldn’t touch him. It was ludicrous how true it was. They could— _would_ —try, but he didn’t have an address to be found at and they were too worn thin to waste too many resources looking for him at this point. They relied on the Flash like a crutch, waiting for him to bring the Rogues in, and Len knew they’d just bust out again if it happened.

He’d never felt so invincible. He ought to enjoy it. He tried to. Enough drinks blurred by, enough insinuations, even from gals he’d never met, now that his reputation was a little less frightening despite the frost. Angie sized up her competition, came over and made herself busy whispering in his ear until he told her to buzz off, got her back up like a pissed off cat as she walked away in a huff. It was about that time that Lisa dropped onto the stool next to him. Small favors. She was facing the bar, he was facing away.

“Some job today.”

“Mm.” He sipped his beer.

“Say Lenny…” she tilted her head in his direction, curls flopping around. “How’d you know he’d go after you?”

“Guess I’m lucky, Lise.”

She was smirking, he knew, glancing just a little in her direction. She didn’t buy it for a sec, but the expression was designed to put him at ease. If only he hadn’t taught it to her. “ _Lucky_ Lenny. I almost like the ring of that.”

“Why don’t you get a round of shots for the bar?” he finally turned to her, aiming to dismiss.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s got the Flash following you around?”

“Maybe he just likes me.” It was close enough to the truth that he amused himself with it.

“You didn’t even have the loot.”

“Maybe he thinks I’m more _dangerous_.”

She pouted at that. “Maybe you’re not telling us something.”

“Maybe it’s not your _business_.”

“Maybe not,” she agreed. And then she turned to face him, simper gone in a blink. “But that doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

“Now Lise, I’m a big boy—”

“Knock it off, Lenny. You were angling for a fight today. I’m surprised you haven’t found one yet, sitting here cracking your knuckles. I thought Angie was gonna slap you.”

She wasn’t the only one. Len had tensed for it.

“Your point?”

“We pulled off a _major_ heist, in broad daylight, with _barely_ any work. I still don’t know what you did to stall the Flash or why he was so surprised to see us, but he was off his game and you knew exactly what he would do.”

“I know how to plan a gig.”

“ _I_ know how to tell when you’re hiding something.” She hopped off her stool, clapping him on his shoulder. “Don’t tell me, I don’t really care. But do something about it before you break someone’s face. Or before they break yours.” She gave him a meaningful look then flipped her hair, disappearing into the crowd.

He sighed and finished his beer, headed for the door. Maybe he should’ve taken Angie up on her offer. He wasn’t in the mood, but he wouldn’t mind the company. Someone to take his mind off Barry for the night. It wasn’t like that with Angie though, too quick and professional, too cold. He already had that in his life with Barry, he didn’t need more of it.

He still had the cuffs hanging off his belt. Lisa hadn’t asked. Len wasn’t going to explain.

 

[ … ]

 

“Alice!”

“Fiona!” Iris put on her best smile. “Thanks for meeting me outside.”

“I’m so glad you made it.”

Fiona was her ‘in’. Iris had met her through their website almost a week ago and asked her a few questions, complained about feeling ‘lost’ and ‘powerless’ in the past year, admitted feeling like something was missing in her life. That part, at least, was a lie, though there was enough truth to the first two that it wasn’t hard to sell. They’d met for coffee the night before while Barry was on his stakeout and it had paid off. Fiona invited her to tonight’s meeting.

It was a good thing, too, since apparently the Church of the Goddess Circe was invite-only.

“About that…” Iris made sure to look pained and Fiona’s face fell.

“What is it?”

“It’s just… my baby brother? I forgot I was supposed to see him tonight—I don’t know _where_ my head is at these days, I swear I’m just so—well you know how it is.” Iris bit her lip, going for worried. “Is there any chance he can come with? I couldn’t blow him off—ever since our mom died…”

She felt a little guilty, pulling that one out. But Fiona was already wide-eyed and sympathetic looking, holding tight to both of Iris’s hands.

“Oh Alice of course! The more the merrier. Where is he?”

Iris screwed her face up into something grateful and waved at Wally in the car. He hopped out with a grin.

“Fiona this is my brother… Frank.”

“Hi,” Wally said in that happy, almost-awkward way, holding up a hand to wave instead of offering it to shake.

“Hi, Frank. It’s so nice to meet you, of course. Alice told me all about you.”

“She did?”

“It’s been a very hard year for the both of you. I’m so happy you’ve both decided to stop by today. I know it’s just for a visit, but you never know what might happen with the grace of Circe.”

Iris smiled warmly, following Fiona toward the door of the building, off to the side. It was set up to be very clandestine and everything—a red door in an alleyway, a secret knock. Her and Wally exchanged raised eyebrows. But then they were being ushered inside. There was noise coming from upstairs, the sound of a heavy bass and voices that told her there was a club above them. She almost snorted, but Wally took the opportunity to lean in close.

“Got a text while I was waiting in the car. Cisco says Van Trost is on the move.”

She tried to smother her surprise at the announcement, nodding tight at him. This might actually lead somewhere. Her eyes narrowed in on the back of Fiona’s head. Could _she_ be the witch who cursed Barry?

“I know it’s not much,” Fiona added on to what she was saying, about the building and the size of the gathering, “but we’re very welcoming here.”

Iris smiled, Wally thanked her, and they were led into an open, fluorescent lit room. It looked vaguely like… a group therapy meeting, like one from a movie. She tried not to feel disappointed. There were tables along one wall with muffins and donuts and a vegetable tray and some coffee that Fiona urged them toward, Iris taking some to be polite. She absolutely _didn’t_ look at Wally, feeling silly. There were chairs all facing a podium at least, but that wasn’t really helping.

Fiona introduced them to about ten other people, most of them women, all of whom were excited to welcome them, promising them they’d fit right in. Two told them about the hard times they’d fallen on themselves before finding The Goddess, and there was a twinkle in their eye, something conspiratorial, that made Iris hope this wouldn’t be a total bust after all.

Someone came over to tell them it was almost time, and handed Iris and Wally honest-to-god _robes_. They were white as snow and they both thanked him. Iris shot Fiona a skeptical look but she just laughed.

“It’s fine, we all wear them. I know it’s a little kooky out here but you’ll see. It feels right when you’re in the moment.”

“Not kooky,” Wally said, affable. “Costumes are cool.”

Iris resisted the urge to snort. Fiona was seeming crazier by the minute, but she put on the cloak and watched Fiona pull out a deep brown one for herself, the same color as everyone else there. Great. She was hoping _not_ to stand out like such a sore thumb.

They took a seat next to a very excited Fiona, and finally something interesting happened. The lights dimmed. Fiona motioned to the candle under their seats and Iris and Wally each picked one up. If she was being honest, this was getting a little cool, finally.

“All rise.”

The female voice came from nowhere (she assumed some speakers) reverberated, the lights dimmed to darkness and they stood. The candle in her hand lit itself. She gasped and almost dropped the damn thing. Wally’s jaw was wide, staring at his own happily lit and glowing candle. Real flames. They both looked over to Fiona who grinned at them and leaned over to whisper quietly.

“I told you—you’ve found your place with us, Alice. We share our secrets with our friends.”

And the price of admission was a few emails and a coffee date? Iris tried not to look at Fiona like she was crazy.

A figure moved to the center of the room in front, the podium. “Welcome, Children of the Goddess.”

“Welcome, Priestess.” They all murmured in reply. Iris felt chills go up her spine, just a little. Wally elbowed her arm, attention rapt on the cloaked woman at the front of the room. There was _no way_ that wasn’t Van Trost. It had to be, right?

“We open tonight with a reading from her holiness, the Goddess Circe.”

 

[ … ]

 

“So Van Trost’s in there?”

“Yep,” Cisco popped the ‘p’ then followed it by sipping on his slush. He was flipping through his phone in the front seat and Barry was crouching in the back one in their stakeout van, staring at the red door in the alleyway that Joe and Cisco had followed Van Trost to.

“What else is in there?”

“We don’t know yet,” Joe answered. “Cisco’s seeing if he can get any hits from here.”

“Nada for ads online. Lemme get out my laptop.”

Barry passed it to him, staring intently at the door inside. He was resisting the urge to rush in. Cisco typed for a minute or two, intent.

“Well, the main floor’s a dance club. Looks pretty sweet, actually.”

“Cisco…” Joe sighed.

“Right, focusing. Actually, uh… huh. One sec.”

Barry leaned forward to sneak some food from the console in between Joe and Cisco’s seats but Joe batted his hand away.

“Hey!”

“Those are Cisco’s stakeout treats. Last I checked, you ain’t helped with the stakeouts.”

Barry glared at him. “I took a shift last night.”

“You ran by twice. No candy needed.”

“Starting to think you like Cisco more’n me.”

Joe barked out a laugh just as Cisco half-shouted a “huzzah!”

“Got something?” Barry shifted, inching a little closer to the candy.

“Looks like that cult Joe’s C-I mentioned is meeting here tonight. I had to hack the booking software used by the building to confirm it was the right group.”

“The cult… you think Van Trost’s connected to that cult?”

“Seems like it.” Cisco grabbed a licorice. He also gave in and handed one to Barry. He grinned. Joe rolled his eyes.

“Okay, so,” Barry thought it through. “Van Trost is into antiquities and knows all about this book. She’s part of a cult that says they can do real magic. She’s definitely _not_ the lady who cursed me, but maybe this is the real deal.”

“How’d’you wanna play this?” Joe asked.

“Cisco… can you vibe what’s going on inside?”

“Oh! Good call. It doesn’t work with the witch but maybe…” He pulled out his goggles, folding them over his face. Barry was never quite sure what it looked like when he vibed, how the visions expressed, only that he got quiet, at least for a minute, unless he was speaking to someone else or exclaiming (or explaining what he was seeing, which tended to be the most insightful).

This time, he just stayed quiet until a minute later when he slid the goggles back off his face.

“No luck?”

Cisco cleared his throat. “No uh—I could vibe inside. Not because the witch or Van Trost, didn’t really get a read on them. But uh, because of someone else we know inside.”

“Oh?” Barry shuffled forward, leaning between their seats.

Cisco licked his lips, glancing at Joe. “Iris and Wally… may be inside.”

 

[ … ]

 

After what amounted to a small sermon with greetings from ‘the goddess’, Iris shifting in her seat watching wax drip down the candle and into its holder, the feel in the room shifted again.

“It is time, now, for the Children of the Goddess to share unto each other their good works.”

Iris _really_ hoped she hadn’t just walked into an orgy. Everyone was standing and moving chairs all of the sudden, like this was routine, putting them in a circle and she let Fiona direct her and Wally to do the same. The cloaked woman came down from the podium to the center of the room. She raised her hand and murmured a word and just like that—

Magic really was real, wasn’t it?

There was a ball of flame above her hand, casual as could be. Iris gasped again, taking a half step back from the fire.

“I see we have newcomers in our midst this evening. There’s no need to be shy, Children. The Goddess welcomes you.”

Iris tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thank…you.”

Wally nodded, “yeah uh, thanks?”

Up close and in the light, she could see the Priestess was wearing a white mask over the top half of her face under her cowl, sort of like a masquerade one, with holes for her eyes. For a half-second, she was almost reminded of Barry and his Flash outfit. And then the woman came closer to them, and the circle of her followers moved in sync with her, so that Iris and Wally were now inside of it instead of part of it, surrounded.

She swallowed hard.

“You, child—what is your name?” She was staring intently at Iris.

“Alice.”

“Through the looking glass or down the rabbit hole?”

Iris let out a laugh since the woman didn’t say it cruelly. “Feeling a little like both, right now.”

That earned her a smile. “Normally, Alice, we do not invite newcomers for the next parts of our evening. For you, though, I can see we need to make an exception.”

“And me?” Wally asked beside her, his typical chipper self. The woman’s eyes flicked to him and her demeanor changed.

“You… we’ll accept, on the grace of your…”

“Sister,” Iris supplied.

“Sister’s presence.”

Wally snorted in an unamused way and Iris shot him a look to shut him up. If the Priestess was offended though, she didn’t say. Just raised her voice to address the group at large.

“Be not afraid of the gifts you see here tonight. We welcome all with open arms in the light of the Goddess.” The Priestess swept her hand in a wide arc, indicating the circle. “Children, what have you prepared for your brothers and sisters this month?”

Iris and Wally were folded back into the circle’s ring instead of the center of it, and she tried to push down the hammering of her heart now that the moment had passed.

Across the circle, someone stood up. “I—I cultivated my herb garden this month. With it, I made three potions to heal the ails of my friends and family.”

Iris glanced at Wally. His eyes were wide and somehow still skeptical. She was impressed, given that they were _literally_ witnessing a woman wave a magic ball of fire around.

The Priestess murmured her praise, and another person stood up, and another. They offered good things they’d done that month with magic, or with something that might approximate magic in the right hands. Iris was almost confused—it was all good deeds, good works, people helping neighbors. She supposed that was how cults lured people in though, with a good visage, a show of power undercut by community, sucking you in. She steeled her resolve.

A woman to Fiona’s left stood up, one of the last to do so, and moved into the center of the circle.

“I learned a new spell this month. A summoning spell for voices beyond the veil, so that I can help families find peace with loss.”

Iris’s hackles were raised. She wasn’t sure why. Next to her, Wally was frowning.

“And how came you by this knowledge, Daughter?”

It was the first time the Priestess pushed, and something about her tone… Iris sat up straighter. This woman. This was it. Her heart beat in her chest.

“The Goddess showed me the path.”

“Do you have an offering for the Goddess then?”

“I—yes, Priestess.”

The woman hummed and Iris was trying to memorize every feature she could see on the witch’s face, illuminated by her candle and the floating flame. And then it appeared, a book. A simple, old, carefully held book, pulled from the bag at the young woman’s side.

“For you, Priestess.”

Iris was _seething_ in her chair and barely registered her own anger until Wally had a warning hand on her arm, holding her in place. He shot her a quick ‘no’ with his head and Iris wanted to throw down with this woman right now but—he was right, of course. She settled deeper into her seat.

The Priestess laid a hand on the book, fingers skimming the cover. “You have done well, Kat. Be mindful though of the dangers on your path.”

If ‘Kat’ was going to say anything in response, she never got the chance. The book disappeared with a whisper from the Priestess before she swept her arm across the circle.

“Are there any more gifts to be brought forward?”

No one had any.

“Then we adjourn over to the next portion of our evening.”

 

[ … ]

 

“How long are we gonna sit here waiting for them to come out?”

“Give them a couple more minutes, come on,” Cisco shot back but Barry could tell he was tense too.

“If they’re the only ones who don’t come out, I’m going in.”

“No argument here.”

“Those kids are gonna give me grey hair,” Joe whispered. His eyes hadn’t left the red door in the alleyway since learning Iris and Wally were inside.

“It’s a distinguished look, Joe,” Cisco said. Barry stole another licorice, waiting nervously.

 

[ … ]

 

Everyone stood up and started to move. Iris stood too, eyes trained on ‘Kat’, worried she’d lose her in the shadows and robes.

“Good evening, Alice.”

Shit, someone was—oh. The Priestess was talking to her again.

“The final part of the evening can be overwhelming for newcomers. Are you certain you’d like to remain?”

Iris’s eyes strained toward the sea of robes before flicking back to the woman in front of her. “Yes. Please.”

“And your brother?”

Wally stood closer to her. “I go where she does.”

The woman hummed. “Why—” Iris started then stopped.

“Why?”

“Why me? Why not my brother?”

“He has the Gift, to be sure,” the woman’s eyes landed on Wally again, but then her lip curled. “But I can sense such stubbornness in him, he is inflexible even in the Circle, even in the presence of magic. A man of science, I feel?”

“Uh, yeah.” Wally laughed a little nervously, “I am.”

“But you, child.” She turned back to Iris, “you are too fierce to be inflexible. And that passion has no doubt landed you with the hex from which you now seek restitution.”

Her eyes went wide. “How did you—”

The woman’s hand reached out, near Iris’s face like she was about to a magic trick—a fake one, like pulling a coin from behind her ear. Except it wasn’t a coin in her hand when it came away: it was a wisp of green smoke, shimmering in the air around Iris, almost like fire. The air glittered with green for a moment and her breath was short, watching it dissipate a moment later.

“These things can be Seen for those who know how to look. The trappings of magic surround you, sinister in their Intent. This is what brings you to us?”

“Y-yeah,” she breathed, still trying to wrap her head around it. Barry was cursed, not her. How come…?

“What ails you?”

“A curse…” Iris whispered, almost despite herself. If this woman could break it…

But her eyes narrowed sharply. “A curse of what nature?”

“Can you break it?”

“Curses can only be broken in fulfilling their aims, and the magic that clings about you…” Her eyes glanced off to the side, toward the robed figures and Iris had almost forgotten about the other woman, the witch who put them in this situation. She inhaled, wondering if the Priestess had already put it all together.

“Priestess…” Fiona came closer, looking (sounding) nervous. “Everything is ready for the ritual.”

The woman stood taller, sorting her features back into something smooth and calm. “Thank you, Child. Come, then.”

Iris and Wally followed, Iris feeling like she was walking on bambi-esque legs, her own didn’t want to hold her. But she pushed on, Wally at her side, whispering quietly to ask if she was okay. She nodded mutely, unable to speak. Barry’s curse was on her, somehow, _visibly_ attached. And even this woman couldn’t fix it.

She barely noticed that they were led into a room with an altar. Her eyes went wide when she did, alarmed. So much for the boring PTA-style meeting. The Priestess took a place at the front of the room, her little ball of flame that had almost become normal going to the center of the circle. It was a smaller group then, she noticed with a start. Iris and Wally were welcome, but apparently half the people who attended the earlier portion of the evening weren’t…or couldn’t stomach this.

She wondered what she’d gotten herself into, reaching for Wally’s hand and giving it a squeeze. He squeezed back and for a moment, she felt reassured.

And then the Priestess started to talk in some language she didn’t recognize, her acolytes reciting back at her every so often. Iris’s anxiety ratcheted higher the more minutes went by, shoulders tensing to the point of pain. But after a few minutes of this, she switched back to English.

“Each month, my Children, we complete this ritual. No magic is free, and no magic yet walks this Earth without a token to bid it entry. And so we must pay our penances to the Goddess Circe for her blessing.”

With _that_ cryptic statement, she pulled out a knife. Iris almost shouted out, ready for something completely dramatic and horrifying. But it wasn’t so bad. The knife was mean looking—long and glinting, gilded at the hilt. But the only thing she did with it was slice her finger, the drops falling into the ball of flame below her. It blazed white for a moment and then receded.

“A gift, for the realm of Azarath.”

Around them, everyone murmured it in sync, “a gift, for the realm of Azarath.”

Iris swallowed. This was officially some Dark Shit. And it wasn’t over. The fire ball went around the circle, in front of people, each of whom one by one pulled out a knife and dropped some blood into the flames. Each time, it swallowed them, and sometimes changed colors to blue or green or violet. When it hovered in front of Iris and Wally at the end, the Priestess recalled it to her side.

And then, like that… it was over. A few words, some incantation or other, but Iris was beyond caring, freaked out by the entire thing and more than ready to book it home and tell Barry and the team what she’d found. The fire was extinguished, Fiona ushered them out of the room, and then they were back under the fluorescent lights, the outer room all cleaned and bright again, looking like the dull space it had when she entered, completely non-threatening. The sound of heavy bass and pounding feet from the club above them came rushing back and she realized it had been gone the entire time, mysteriously absent as soon as the lights went out.

“So…” Fiona hedged, shy smile on her face. Iris tried not to look too watery and weirded out when she smiled back.

“So! Magic…”

“Amazing, right?”

“That’s one word for it,” Wally scowled beside her. “What’s with the _blood_?”

“ _Ssshhh_ —we don’t discuss the ritual out here!”

He looked chastised at least. Iris just wanted to get out of there.

“No need to fret, Fiona.” The Priestess came over and Fiona stood up straight, eyes wide. Iris wondered at how hierarchical this cult was, and how she was supposed to take this woman seriously out here under the cheap fluorescent glow, still wearing her mask, even if she’d pulled back the cowl to her robes. It was definitely Van Trost, if the cute bobbed curls were anything to go by. “They are un-inducted to our ways.”

“Yeah, about that…” Wally glanced toward the door. “We’re uh, not too sure if the fit is good for us. Y’know.”

The woman gave him a withering smile, turning her attention back to Iris.

“And you, daughter?”

She swallowed. “I just… want this curse to be over. No blood, no pain.”

“Perhaps you misunderstood the purpose of the ritual we do, then. There is no magic in this world that is not bought or earned. All magic costs. Sometimes, it costs us love, or family, and strife. Sometimes connection. Sometimes we are lucky and it costs only blood. But never is it free to use without sacrifice.”

Iris blinked, a little more focused, a little more steel in her. “If that’s the case, why do I need to give anything at all? Shouldn’t the cost be paid by the person who laid the curse?”

“And I’m sure it has, but breaking a curse requires magic as well, in its own fashion. We always lose something.” She tilted her head, and Iris almost got the impression she was kind. “Tell me what’s been done to you, my dear, or who’s done it, and I will call on the Goddess Circe for guidance in aiding you.”

She glanced at Wally, caught his careful nod. Then her eyes skated across the room, landing on Kat amongst some other people milling about the coffee and cookies, all out of their robes and laughing now.

“Ah.”

Iris snapped her eyes back to the Priestess but the damage was done.

“Fiona?” she did not sound amused. Iris felt a chill roll down her spine.

The woman stepped up beside her. “Priestess?”

“Fetch me Katherine.”

“Yes, Priestess.”

Iris’s back went ramrod straight, heartbeat a mile a minute. Wally was so close to her side she could feel his warmth and that was something, at least. And she always had her panic button, after all.

The witch— _Kat_ —came over to them, looking nervous.

“Mother?” Not her actual mother, Iris was pretty sure, given the difference in their features, ethnicity included. Kat was white where Van Trost was black, straight hair where she had curls, short where she was tall. They couldn’t have seemed more different, except for the feeling they both gave off, something indescribable.

“What have you done to this poor girl?”

Her eyebrows shot up, looking at Iris in confusion. Iris bit her lip.

“Nothing, Mother.”

For the first time, the Priestess looked… frightening. It wasn’t anything she did, nothing that came across her really—just an aura that emanated out, an anger, a subtle shift in the lines of her frown. Wally actually stepped back.

“We do not lie in an altar of the Goddess, Katherine.” She really did sound like a mother for a moment there.

“I’m _not_ lying—” And Kat really did sound like a petulant teen. For the first time, in the light now, Iris realized how young she was. Younger than Wally.

“She’s not lying,” Iris added, feeling brave. Brave or stupid. “I’m not the one she cursed.”

It was hard to tell with the white mask still in place over her dark features, but Iris was pretty sure the woman in front her had bunched her eyebrows together. If nothing else, the deeper shadows that surrounded her seemed to dissipate again.

“The Flash…” Kat breathed, everything clicking into place on her face.

“So you remember,” Iris bit off, sour. The witch was looking at her, expression changing every half second between one emotion and another, from awe to wariness to excitement to something like contrition.

“You’re… not his enemy are you?” she seemed almost sheepish, wincing.

“Not even close.”

The Priestess looked between them. “You issued a _curse_ , Kat?”

“I… yes, Mother.” Her eyes were wide as saucers. Iris was pretty sure curses were a no-no of some sort. Wally elbowed her and she ignored him.

“And you cursed the Flash?” Her voice had the type of eerie calm that reminded Iris momentarily of her father when he was really angry.

“Yes, Mother.” Kat was all but hanging her head. Iris could barely contain her glee. Wally elbowed her more insistently.

“ _What_?” she hissed at him under her breath. He held his phone under her gaze, vibrating with Barry’s name on it. Shit. The call ended before Wally could answer. Her eyes shot up to meet his.

“Alice.” Her eyes flashed back to the Priestess, who was surveying her with narrowed eyes. “If you haven’t been cursed, how is it that it clings so sticky to you?”

“I was hoping you could answer that for me.”

“Don’t look at me,” Kat added, nose wrinkling, “it should only attach to a mortal enemy.”

“A— _Katherine_ —”

There was a _whoosh_ before anyone could answer. Iris almost sighed.

“Two more minutes—” she directed at Barry (dressed in the Flash suit) the second he slowed to a visible standstill.

“Wha—?” he started to ask, then his eyes locked on the wide ones of Kat. “ _You!_ ”

“Uh oh.”

Wally got Iris out of the way, arm around her and instinctually protective but it didn’t matter. Barry rushed the witches, speeding his way to the Priestess and Kat but—

Iris coughed at the sudden smoke that filled the air, blinding them all with its violet plumes, smelling inexplicably like roses. She heard Barry coughing somewhere through the thick fog, blind in it, and felt Wally coughing too from where she was clutching his arm. She felt a vortex a moment later, wind spinning around and the air parted fast at the turbine Barry’s arms made, but—

“They’re gone.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so damn long. I was out of town for a few weeks and up to my ears in work, but I also had a bit of a plot snag here. Originally, back when this fic was only coldflash in my head, Barry was just going to rush the witch at a gathering and then it was going to become apparent pretty quickly that Kat had cursed him. As the story became coldwestallen, I wanted to give Iris a bigger role in moving the plot, but then it was a lot harder to make it so that she'd convey that information and get some in return over the course of the chapter. Thankfully, a friend helped steer me in the right direction to un-snag myself.
> 
> Also, this is legit the first chapter with zero smut at all! Yay? Nay? I don't know, just lots of plot going on for once.
> 
> Let's see, other notes... I inexplicably listened to the Brie Larson cover of Black Sheep (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQ91nArSjOg) on repeat while writing this chapter? Thank god for music helping me write.
> 
> Also, for those of you who've picked up on the side/subtle joesco flirting... I'm just gonna keep it up in the background of this fic, honestly. You can happily headcanon that they're together. I could in theory write a joescoe outtake or three for this story, really. But it'll probably stay subtextual/meta-textual for anyone who wants to squint and see it there.
> 
> Oh! If Amara Van Trost's 'voice' (speech patterns) seem different here, it's because she's fallen into her oratorial role as the leader of this little group so she's affecting a more formal and ~mysterious~ air. Her next appearance will have her back to normal.
> 
> As always, comments are love <3 Hope you enjoyed the chapter, even though it took a while coming.


	6. Trust Play

“So lemme get this straight,” Joe was saying, “you two just decided to infiltrate a _cult_ and not tell the rest of us, and just _happened_ to be invited into a—what did you call it?”

“Freaky deaky blood ceremony,” Wally supplied with a grin.

“What the hell were you two thinking!?”

Barry wanted to echo him. He got it, he did, because he was liable to do the same, always rushing in. But they didn’t have the luxury of that right now, and neither of _them_ had super powers.

“What we were _thinking_ ,” Iris stepped in front of her brother, “is that you were all so busy with Van Trost that no one was doing any diligence to this cult angle. And we were right, weren’t we?”

“Half-right,” Cisco chimed in, “since y’know, Van Trost is _in charge of_ the cult.”

“You didn’t know that before.”

“Maybe the point here,” Caitlin hedged into the half-second opening, “is that we learned a lot of valuable information tonight about this curse?”

Barry wished he could agree. “Yeah—that it still can’t be broken except by fulfilling it.”

Caitlin frowned at him. “I was thinking about how it ‘clings’ to Iris.”

Right. Barry’s stomach felt tight when he thought about that. Joe frowned, arms crossed. “Uh huh—what’s up with that, anyway?”

“Got me,” Cisco complained. “She ain’t his enemy. B?”

He opened his mouth and closed it. They all waited for him and he let out a quiet, frustrated sigh. Now wasn’t the time to be shy. “The curse is about…one thing, so far. And that’s a thing me and Iris have in common too.”

“Ah,” said Caitlin at the same time as Cisco made an “oh ho!” sound. Barry resolutely didn’t look at Joe.

“You think because we sleep together, I’m wrapped up in your curse, Barry?” Iris’s eyes were wide. Barry winced a little.

“I think it’s the easiest explanation? And I hope it’s the answer, because it’s bad enough that I _am_ cursed, I don’t want you have to get wrapped up in any of the rest of this mess beyond that.”

“Hear hear,” Joe murmured.

“Right,” Iris bit her lip. “Okay. Then so what about this… payment thing the Priestess mentioned?”

“You mean Van Trost?” Cisco frowned her way. “Constantine’s talked about that before. All magic users have some penance? I mean, look at Kendra and Carter—tragic reincarnations over and over, right?”

“Could that be the issue with me?” Barry asked the group. “I’m not paying whatever price it takes to undo the curse?”

They all gave him a weird look.

“What?”

“Pretty sure sleeping with Snart is a big enough toll, dude.”

Right. Barry scrubbed a hand over his face. “Point taken.”

“What I wanna know is—where do we go next?” Joe asked the room at large.

Cisco pulled up a search to the main screen. “Still no hits on ‘Katherine’ or ‘Kat’ so far. The Church of The Goddess Circe doesn’t exactly publish its membership online.”

“That’s one thing,” Wally interjected. “We totally got a name. Stalking Van Trost wasn’t getting you that.”

He high-fived Iris and Barry wished he could share in their joy. Seeing the witch for that one fleeting second before they disappeared in a _literal_ puff of smoke set his teeth on edge. She was _almost_ in his grasp. This mess was almost over.

“Speaking of Van Trost…” he mused. “I think it’s time the Flash paid her a visit.”

“You sure that’s a good idea, son?” Joe looked at him dubiously.

“She’s a witch, a cult leader, and our best lead.” Barry’s jaw was set. “I’m bringing her in.”

 

[ … ]

 

He did not bring Van Trost in.

She didn’t return to her estate that night, or the next day. Barry was going halfway out of his mind with impatience. She must’ve figured out they could track her after that and made herself scarce. She was blocking Cisco’s vibes too now.

Joe brought in a few known members of the cult to interview the following morning. Not a single one gave up Van Trost’s identity, let alone her whereabouts. One of them, Fiona—Iris’s new friend, apparently—was a little more forthcoming about ‘Kat’, but not by much.

“Kat is… new to our circle.”

“Oh?” Joe asked, leaning forward a little. Barry was on the other side of the one-way glass separating him from the interrogation booth, gnawing at his thumb, foot tapping with energy to burn.

“She came to town about a half year ago… The Priestess took her right under her wing.”

“Instead of you.”

“It’s not like that!” It clearly was. “There’s no room for jealousy in the teachings of the Goddess.”

“I see.” Joe tapped the pad of paper. “But you’re still not sure about this… Kat.”

“Kat has… a lot of raw power. And not a lot of direction. The Priestess has been helping to guide her, but she’s been in over her head once or twice before.”

“Can you tell me about those times?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, detective.”

“We are talking about _grand larceny_ here, Fiona. The book Kat stole was worth a lot of money. Anything you can tell me about her will help your friend ‘The Priestess’ stay out of trouble.”

“The Priestess wouldn’t have anything to do with theft!”

“So help me understand who Kat is, then.”

She opened her mouth, then shook her head. “Kat is a friend in need of support. And I want to help you, detective—I want to help your children, Iris and Wally.” Barry winced. That had come out of the woodwork in the aftermath of Van Trost disappearing in smoke. The acolytes remaining had had questions for Iris, that was for sure. “But whatever Kat’s past may be, she’s with us and the Goddess now.”

“Mhmm.”

“What I can tell you is that—the Goddess is good. Your friends and children will be well under her light and care.”

Barry wished he was in the mood for empty assurances. It was a day four and there were tingles up his spine that itched under the skin. He knew he ought to give Snart an update on what had transpired, how empty handed they were, but he didn’t want to make that call. Not today. They’d agreed to wait until the fifth day, and if he heard Snart’s voice right now, pictured his face and that smirk, those lips…

“We getting anything?”

Barry startled out of his reverie with a little jump, earning an annoyed look from Singh for the squeak he let out. How long was he daydreaming? Joe was in with a completely different member of the cult and he hadn’t even noticed. He felt himself flushing even as he turned to address the captain, poking his head in in the doorway.

“Nothing substantial yet, I don’t think.”

“Well let me know if that changes.” Singh glanced at Joe through the glass. Barry did too, catching a hint of his own reflection. Had he been biting his lip? “Allen?”

“Sir?”

“You feeling okay?”

He pushed aside all the things he’d just been daydreaming about and cleared his throat. “Just a little fever.”

“Well take some Tylenol. Or a day off, if it keeps up.”

“Yessir.”

 

[ … ]

 

He was in the shower when Iris got home. The water was running cold and he’d already been in there for what felt like an hour, but couldn’t convince himself to get out.

Day 4 really wasn’t so bad. Nothing like day 5 would be. There was just something that twisted inside him at the thought of laying in their bed and jerking off to thoughts of Snart before Iris made it home from work. So cold showers it was.

“Babe?” she called in his direction once he had the water off. The mirror wasn’t even steamed. There were goosebumps all over his skin. “I grabbed some Thai food on my way home.”

“Sounds good!” he called back, toweling off his hair. He glanced at his body, lean angles and hard muscles. It was still hard to reconcile some days, how different he looked now than when he had no powers. His fingers traced his side, wondering for a second if it was something Leonard liked about him. He was confident now, felt attractive, and the man didn’t seem to have any issues getting aroused, any issues with moving together in tandem. Hadn’t ever had an issue with long glances and standing way too close for comfort.

But he didn’t touch much—was that just him, or was there something about Barry’s body? The situation? Barry could only imagine it, inviting him to touch, inviting his hands to roam in all the probably places they could end up, thinking of how they felt clamped down on his hips, holding him in place.

He heard Iris in the kitchen and snapped out of it, scowling at his erection in the mirror and willing it away. He finished drying off and got some pajamas on before he joined her on the couch.

“Netflix night?” he asked, grabbing up the plate she’d made for him. Dinner on the couch tended to mean vegging out to some TV.

“Actually I was hoping we could… talk.”

He stopped shoveling food in his mouth for a moment, deer in the headlights. He swallowed the bite. “About?”

She sighed and sat her plate aside. When she dragged her hand through her hair he really started to worry.

“Iris.”

“Are you… okay?”

“Me? I’m fine.” She gave him a skeptical look. He paused, gnawing at the inside of his cheek, getting more serious. “I’m… warm. But I’m holding it together.”

“I just meant—the last two days, ever since we infiltrated that cult meeting and saw Kat, you’ve been…”

He glanced away. There was some truth to what she let dangle.

“And I just keep thinking,” Iris pressed on, moving a little closer to him, “that if it were me, I would be angry too, Barry. Or disheartened. That we got so close and missed. That it feels like we’re going in circles.”

His jaw tensed. He didn’t even know what to say to that and couldn’t look at her. She laid her hand over his.

“It’s _okay_ to be frustrated. And it’s okay to share it. I’m here for you. You can open up to me.”

“I don’t _want_ to!”

She drew back and he dragged a hand over his face. Fuck. “That’s not what I—I didn’t mean it like that.”

She was tense beside him, staring out at the living room. He was an ass.

“Then tell me,” she whispered after a minute, a little choked up and he hated himself in that moment. “What did you mean it like?”

He swallowed. He felt so—“Talking about this doesn’t fix it. That’s what I meant. You’re great and if I wanted to talk to anyone it would be you. But it’s not… okay it _is_ that, I _am_ frustrated about her getting away but I’m a lot _more_ frustrated by…” He glanced at her sidelong then at their knees. “Van Trost said even she couldn’t break the curse. That’s what she told you, right?”

“Yeah…”

He nodded. “What if ‘Kat’ can’t either?”

“You mean… what if we have to find some other way to break it?”

“What if there _is_ no way to break it, Iris? What if we’re stuck like this for…”

“Forever.”

He swallowed. She understood now.

“That’s not gonna happen, Barr.”

He choked out a laugh, leaning back against the couch. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because! It has to be. And Van Trost _also_ said curses can be broken.”

He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. His chest felt hollow and tight at once. “If magic costs… what if it costs me you?”

“Hey,” she said softly, moving into his space again, “that’s never gonna happen.”

“You didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did you. This isn’t something you get to choose and I am here for you through this, one-hundred-and-ten percent. And I know—I _know_ there’s only so much I can do, Barr—that this is something I can’t help with. But I _am_ here to listen, whenever you’re ready to talk about it.”

He swallowed, closing his eyes, feeling her hand over his heart. Talk about it. It was almost a cruel joke. What was he going to tell her? That he couldn’t stop picturing Leonard’s hands on his skin, on his hips. That he couldn’t stop thinking about how hard he was last time the man came, how pressed together they were. How he wanted to drown himself in kissing him, wanted to do it face to face again so that he could swallow each noise he drew from the other man. How he ached to get his hands on him and his lips on him and how he wanted to _hold_ him and—

“There’s nothing to say.” Not to her. Not about how he was feeling.

“I’m not trying to push, I understand if you’re not ready, or if you want to talk to a counsellor instead of—”

His eyes snapped open. “It’s not _like_ that. He doesn’t treat me like that.”

“Even if he’s not cruel, you’re still being _violated_. I know it’s for your survival, but it takes control and makes you say and do things and that has to be hard to handle—”

“It’s not—” He sat bolt up and looked at her, too intense “—like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

His hands shook a little, heat rushing through him, tight in his chest, choking up his throat. “I should go for a run.”

“Barry!”

He was already on his feet.

“If I pushed too much then tell me so—don’t just run away from this conversation.”

“I’m not—” he paced away from her then back, pressed his fingers over his mouth, trying to push back the feelings. “I want to run. I don’t even want to know what dreams my mind is gonna come up with and tomorrow’s a day five so I don’t even know if I’m gonna be able to handle work unless I can drain my brain tonight anyway so I’m too tired to daydream.”

“Daydream?”

He shook his head, agitated. “You don’t understand, Iris.”

There were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Barry. You’re right—I _don’t_ understand. I know I don’t understand what you’re going through and I—”

“I’m not—I’m not _going through_ anything! That’s the part that you don’t get! That’s it’s not—” he pulled at his hair, turning on a dime back to face her. “It’s not _bad_! It’s good, Iris! _That’s_ the problem! That this curse makes it feel so good when I’m with him and makes me want him so much when I’m not that I spend all this time—” he ground out a breath. He didn’t want her to know this. He needed to explain in a way that didn’t—“The worst part of this right now is that I know that _he_ doesn’t want _me_! Not like I want him, not except for my—”

Fuck. He wasn’t even ready to think about that. Why did he tell her that?

“Barr—”

“I need some air. I’ll be out for hours so just—don’t wait up.”

 

[ … ]

 

She watched as he left in a bright streak, out the door before she had anything else to add. She choked back the urge to call after him, too tense to even know what to say.

He wasn’t well. She’d known him her whole life. He wasn’t in control and he wasn’t okay. The way he was sweating before dinner, the way he was so agitated—for _days_ now—and then what he just _said._

She breathed through the tears, thinking. If he spent the entire night out running… would he even be able to cope the next morning? There was no way he was planning to go to work like that again. If he didn’t punch someone at the precinct, he might just spend the whole day thinking about Snart and acting stoned and out of it at his desk. And if he exhausted himself, wouldn’t it make it that much harder to hold out and not do anything he’d regret?

Or… she pictured what he looked like in the pipeline, curled in on himself, shivering and sweating and increasingly delirious and angry. Would he lock himself up again, sweating it out until he thought he’d suffered long enough before calling Leonard?

She couldn’t shake the feeling he was punishing himself. Her heart was in her chest, but she reached for her phone. She’d memorized Leonard’s number after using Barry’s cell to call him the other day.

He answered on the second ring.

“Hello.” It was short, cold, and uninformative. At least he didn’t sound like he was asleep.

“Leonard, hi. It’s Iris.” She tried to keep the tears out of her voice, reasonably sure she accomplished it.

“Iris. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He sounded a little less frosty at least and she tucked her hair behind her ear and swallowed.

“It’s about Barry.”

“You don’t say.”

She glared at nothing, using her anger to keep herself calm. “I do. I know you guys agreed to wait until tomorrow, but can you consider changing that?”

“…doesn’t do much good to push up the timeline.”

She closed her eyes and rallied. “It does. He’s planning on running the city the entire night right now and he’s… he’s pushing himself really hard. It can wait until the morning but he can’t go to work, can’t focus. He’s… agitated. I think maybe from the fever? He’s burning up.”

He was quiet on the other end of the line and she felt herself getting impatient, worry bubbling up her throat again.

“Leonard—”

“I’m _thinking_.”

She sighed, relaxing by a fraction.

“Does he know you’re calling me?”

“No…” she gnawed at her lip.

“Then why are you?”

Oh she so did not need Leonard fricking _Snart_ guilting her over this.

“Because he’s _scared_ ,” she snapped, “and he’s not about to admit it to you or anyone else. Whatever you’re doing isn’t exactly making it easier on him either, so don’t pull any high horse shit on me. He won’t ask you for what he needs and he just left the house saying you don’t _want_ him and I don’t even know what to think about that, okay? Just _try_ to have some compassion. He can’t help this and you’re the only one who can do anything at all for him right now. I can’t even—”

She cut herself off, mouth still open but silent. This wasn’t Snart’s fault. It wasn’t his fault Barry yelled and it wasn’t his fault she was shaking and it wasn’t his fault that she couldn’t do anything to fix any of it. God but she wanted to get her hands on this witch.

“… I’ll see what I can do.”

She sniffed, suddenly choked up all over again. Crap. “Thank you, Leonard.”

“Are you—”

“I’m _fine_.”

The line was uncomfortably quiet for a moment. “I have some business to finish up before I text him, but I’ll shoot you a message once I do.”

Goddammit, now she really was gonna cry and it was gonna be because he was being _nice_. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper.

“Goodnight, Iris.”

The line went dead and she curled up around a couch pillow, holding on to Leonard’s reassurance.

 

[ … ]

 

Len finished up with his own business earlier than he otherwise might after the call from Iris he stepped out to take. It was hard to even consider saying no to her. Well, not exactly. Len was perfectly capable of looking someone dead in the eye and saying no with a smirk in place, given a fraction of a reason. But given the _commitment_ he’d somehow made to Barry and his team about all of this, looking after their Scarlet Speedster, it didn’t feel right that his girl was so desperate she was calling Len up at 10pm to implore an ounce of compassion from him.

He hated feeling responsible for people. He frowned thinking about it, then thinking about Iris sitting alone at home waiting for her man, sounding the type of miserable that got under his skin.

Mick was going to call him soft and he wasn’t even gonna be wrong, for once.

Len opened a beer once he got to his nearest safehouse, one he needed to check on anyway, make sure it was stocked up and empty out its mailbox for spam. He’d go to a motel (gladly, _preferably_ ) but all the ones around here might look twice at him getting a room with a skinny brunet they hadn’t seen before, especially at this time of night. They were dead at noon or 4pm, sure, but this was primetime for places that rented by the hour. Not to mention that he wasn’t entirely sure Barry would have the good sense not to show up in his Flash suit, knowing him and this curse, and that was a recipe for disaster.

He meditated on it for five minutes. The cold gun was still strapped to his thigh. He had the speedster cuffs with him on account of his bike, so there was really no reason to drag this out any longer.

He texted Barry to come by, if he was in the mood to get this over with. Then he turned on the game, waiting for the other man to notice. He had to carry it in a pocket in that suit somewhere, right?

A few minutes later, his phone pinged.

_For real? Where are you?_

He dropped a pin with the address for Barry, considering what he was going to do about this safehouse in the future.

There was a knock at his door twenty seconds later. He texted Iris then got up to answer it.

“I can’t believe you wore the suit.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t want to head back to the lab to change.”

Len hummed and stepped back to let him in, closing the door and locking it behind him.

“Can’t your pals hear this conversation?”

“They went home hours ago.”

He pushed back his cowl, looking around. He _seemed_ mostly like himself. At least, until he turned back to look at Len. Then his hand was at his own zipper, sliding it down, eyes not leaving Len and increasingly lidded, lips parted.

“Did you bring the cuffs?” he made it sound like an insinuation, stripping out of his red jacket. Len nodded at the coffee table where they were sitting. Barry gave a full-body shiver and Len could see him already starting to tent his suit. He picked up the cuffs and examined them. “You like it when I’m tied up?”

What the hell kind of question was that? Len sipped his beer, leaned against the wall. “I like it when you don’t appear before me—like that.”

He was in front of Len, wild eyes, grin tugging at his lips. He was still holding the cuffs. “I’d never do anything you didn’t want.”

“I _want_ you to put those damn things on.”

Barry did, clipping them in place, a little clumsily with the second link thanks to the way they spread his wrists, a solid line of metal instead of a chain. Then he leaned forward and kissed Len. He wasn’t surprised this time, not after he’d let Barry do it before. He didn’t push him away either, Iris’s voice ringing in his head, telling him how scared Barry was, how he wouldn’t ask for what he needed. Barry licked his lip, moaned when Len opened his mouth, kissed back. He was still holding his beer. It didn’t seem to matter, Barry’s hands smoothing over his front, aligning himself along Len, the kiss deep but not bitingly urgent like the time before, heated instead in a way that had his head spinning.

He pulled back, sucked in air. One of them had to stay in their right mind. “My beer.”

Barry took it from him, brought it to his lips and finished it—Len couldn’t believe he’d just let Barry finish his beer—and dropped it on the coffee table.

“I was drinking that.”

“I wanna drink you.”

“Your lines need work.”

Barry tasted like beer when he kissed him again but his hands trailed down and started working on Len’s belt and that got the bulk of his attention.

“Bedroom’s behind you.”

Barry moaned, moved to kiss his neck.

“Don’t even think of leaving a hickey. I’m not a teenager.”

“Anything you say,” Barry’s voice was low and syrupy against his skin, hands massaging his cock through his underwear. Len was almost regretting this, how easy it was.

“Bed.”

“Can I—fuck please Leonard, I want your cock in my mouth.”

 _Jesus_. Len finally did something with his hands, settling them on Barry’s hips and pushing him back by a fraction.

“How lucid are you? As honest as you can be, Barry.”

He shivered. “I—fuck I’m so far gone, Leonard. So gone on you.”

That was some clarity, at least. His skin had that sheen and flush to it again, looking a little drunk, hands teasing at the elastic band of his underwear but he seemed somewhat capable of holding himself in check.

“Want you—”

“I got that. ‘N if it doesn’t work—”

“I don’t care, I just wanna make you feel good.”

He hummed. A blowjob would be so much nicer than extending the effort to sex right now. They might as well test it. He told himself that. If nothing else, he suspected Iris would agree with him. Something about compassion for Barry in this state?

“ _Fine_. Go for it.”

Barry was on his knees in a second, mouthing at Len’s cock over his underwear, moaning. Shit. He pulled Len’s jeans down past his ass, underwear following, and wasted zero time.

It was alarming, the sudden realization. Barry didn’t know how to do this. Fuck, why would he? Len almost stopped him when he clued in. It took a minute, letting Barry lick up each side, letting him moan around the tip, but then it clicked, once he started, that he had no practice, no natural rhythm, testing each movement, unsure what to do with his tongue and—

“You’ve never done this, don’t bother—”

“I have,” Barry pulled back, stroking him, licking the underside. “It’s been a while but I want it so bad, lemme try—”

Had he or was he lying? _Could_ he lie like this? It didn’t matter, his mouth was back on Len, more focused, sucking now. It was sloppy but excited and Barry kept moaning around him, kept going even after he took too much and gagged, kept swallowing around it and trying to get Len deeper into his mouth than he knew how to take him. Something about that was doing it for him, if nothing else. He was hard, if not especially close.

Then he made the mistake of looking down to watch. _Fuck_. Barry Allen on his knees, eagerly sucking his cock. The visuals did more for him than the suction. Barry had a rhythm now at least, bobbing, but he looked _obscene_ with his lips stretched around Len’s cock, cheeks flushed and hollowed. This was a terrible idea.

“Barry—”

His eyes shot up to meet Len’s gaze. They were glassy and lidded and so full of heat. Barry moaned and the words caught in Len’s throat, constricted. Barry tilted his head, eyes screwing shut, hands dropping away and—

“Oh _fuckkkk_ …”

Barry should _not_ be able to take him to the base. Len felt suffused in the sudden _incredibly tight_ feeling of Barry’s throat moving around him, feeling it constrict as the man swallowed, seeming to forget he needed air. He finally pulled back and sucked some in but Len couldn’t help the small roll of his hips, chasing that feeling.

Barry moaned around his cock, the tip hitting the back of his throat again. Len swore, losing himself to the heat of it.

“This is Iris’ fault,” he whispered mostly to himself, fisting his hands into Barry’s hair, self-control shot. He shouldn’t grip Barry’s hair and tilt his head again but he did anyway and Barry went all too willingly, his jaw hanging open as he just _let_ Len— _god_. He thrust in, down Barry’s throat and Barry moaned again, the vibrations rumbling around the tip and shaft, tongue sliding along the underside and Len thrust in micro rolls of his hips, grinding himself against Barry’s face.

Barry was shuddering under his hands, probably couldn’t _breathe_ and Len looked down again before his own eyes rolled back—

“Fuck—gonna—” he thrust all the way down and felt Barry swallow around his cock. It felt so good, so tight, velvet and hot and—he pulsed down Barry’s throat, made him take it.

It wasn’t _supposed_ to feel this good. He couldn’t help that though, fingers in Barry’s hair, sliding down the side of his neck. He kept going until it was too much sensation, until he had to pull back and thrust into Barry’s mouth with the final spurt, spilling it on his tongue. Barry was pulling in wet, rattling breaths of air and Len was rubbing his cock on his lips.

 _Shit_. He let go of Barry and fell back against the wall, eyes closing. That had _better_ have worked. Even if he wasn’t gonna be able to look Barry in the eye after it, or possibly ever again.

“Mmm,” Barry managed and Len cracked an eye open. He was wiping his mouth, eyes closed. “Fuck that was good.”

Shit.

“You’re… not done, are you?” he sounded a little breathless even to himself but Barry’s eyes snapped open. He had that fucked-out look around them, dark underneath.

“I… whoa.”

“Whoa?” Whoa was not the right reaction.

Barry leaned his head against Len’s thigh. “This is trippy.”

“Are you… high?”

“Nn-nn.” He shook his head a little to accentuate the point. “Maybe.”

“Barry…”

“It’s like… I’m still hot. I still _want_ —I want you so bad. I can think better, but it’s… still so full of _you_.”

Sweat was breaking out on Len’s back. “It made you… lucid with the fever?”

He tilted his head up at Len. “You let me…” his cheeks went red underneath the flush. He really was lucid.

“Blow me?”

“Please you. Let me _submit_ and now I…” He stood up fluidly, suddenly in Len’s space again, right there, and—

Len pulled back from the sudden kiss. “Bitter,” he complained. As if _that_ was the issue here.

Barry huffed out a laugh against his cheek, rocking their bodies together. Mostly their hips. “Eat more pineapple.”

Of course he’d have a remedy for how to make semen taste better. Was that because he was a chemist, because he knew how to suck cock, or was it something to do with him and Iris? Not that Len should be thinking about them together.

“Does this mean we’re right back here tomorrow?”

“Tonight?” Barry kept rocking against him.

Len’s eyebrows drew together and he closed his eyes, letting Barry continue for the moment. “I’m not twenty-five, Barry. It’ll take an hour.” Or more.

“”m not sleeping anyway.” His hands trailed down to the edge of Len’s sweater, slipping up under it just a little. He caught Barry’s wrists.

“ _I_ intended to sleep.”

“Hmm, go for it.” Barry kissed his jaw slowly. “I’ll wake you up.”

“ _Barry_.” He put some ice into his voice.

“Want me to stay the night? Could wake you up with my mouth.”

“Because _that’s_ working out so great for us right now.”

Barry chuckled against his throat, kissing his way down. “Just want you.”

“I thought you were lucid.”

“Mmhmm. I’m better. Just not enough. I know this isn’t me—I wouldn’t be like this but I know I want it too, want you even if I shouldn’t. You healed me halfway.”

“If it worked halfway you should be good for 48 more hours.”

Barry _whined_. “I can’t—god I can’t go home like this, Leonard. Can’t _run_ like this.” He thrust against Len’s thigh as if to prove the point.

“Alight just—get off me for a minute, Barry.”

He actually did, backing up a handful of paces until his thighs hit the arm of the couch and then he sat on it, watching. Len tucked himself back in, cobbling together the makings of a plan for the next hour until his body could conceivably be coaxed back toward orgasm.

He was never letting Iris or Barry convince him of anything again.

“Get yourself off, take the edge off,” he ordered Barry. “I’m making coffee.”

Barry’s pants were off a moment later and Len moved to the kitchen to brew some instant jet fuel, nose curling at the tinny flavor. It was a few minutes before he rejoined Barry in the living room. His bare legs were sticking out over the side of the couch and Len could hear his quiet gasps, the sound of skin on skin. The TV was still on mute in the background, switched over to late night news now.

“ _Leonard_ —” Barry’s voice was breathy.

“Right here, Barry.” He sipped his coffee. It was a half cup. He wasn’t sleeping, he knew that already, but at least he’d be less aggravated with a half cup.

“Want you.”

He was tired and annoyed. “Mhmm.”

“ _Please_.”

Goddammit. Len rolled his eyes, put the empty cup down, and moved to the back of the couch to peer over the edge.

Barry was laying there, hand furiously stroking himself, angle awkward because of the cuffs, because of his long body trying to fit itself on the small couch. Len forced himself not to stare, not to start counting all the little moles like constellations. He gaze snapped to Barry’s face. His eyes were glazed, looking up at him.

“ _Leonard_ … so sexy, so _good_ to me, so good—”

He really wasn’t, not after forcing his cock down Barry’s throat.

“You close?”

“So close, so—go- _od_ I want you—”

Len leaned his elbows on the back of the couch like they were making casual conversation. “And I want you to cum,” he drawled, amicable.

“You do?” he sounded breathless.

“Yes,” Len inclined his head, feeling congenial.

Barry moaned, arching up, and even Len was caught off guard over how sudden it was. Barry panted his name, eyes rolling back. Len wished for a second that he wasn’t watching, wasn’t memorizing the lines of that expression, the way his mouth dropped open. He spilled cum all over his hand and lower stomach, making a squelching mess. Len curled his lip.

“I’ll get you a cloth.”

Barry made a mumbly noise in reply and Len located something clean in the hall closet for him to use to tidy himself up. He took it, wiping himself up, sitting.

“No chance that did it?”

“Mm?” Barry looked up at him through his lashes. “No, I’m… fuzzy.”

Great. Len pulled out his phone and Iris’s number. How to tell her that he let her boyfriend blow him and now he was acting high? Or that it was going to take a while to go again without making himself seem impotent…

_Tried something, didn’t work. He’s stuck here for an hour._

He expected questions, or judgement.

_Thanks for letting me know._

“Make some room on the couch.”

Barry did and Len sat, sighed. Barry was leaning into his side in a moment.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” he whispered, body shaking a little. “I want to make you feel as good as I feel when I’m around you.”

“It was an experiment we needed to test. The timing isn’t ideal. Don’t worry about it.”

“Can I make it up to you? Help keep you up?” he was murmuring near Len’s neck.

“We’ll get to that later.”

“I mean—” he pulled back, fevered eyes finding Len’s. “Can I massage you? Relax you?”

It was tempting, his shoulders almost painfully tight. “Let’s sit quietly and watch the news.”

Barry snorted, facing him properly now, “I’ll never seduce you with the news.”

Len eyed him. “You sure you can’t wait until tomorrow, Barry?”

“Whatever you want, Leonard.” His voice was full of promise and—how was he already hard again? It had been what—three minutes? Len averted his gaze.

“Whatever I want, mm? And yet you’re terrible at following orders.”

“Leonard?”

He tilted he his head. “Kissing me, asking to blow me, rolling over onto your back when I’m busy trying to fuck you.”

Barry was up in an instant, on his knees on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, cuffed hands on Len’s knees and looking up at him with wide eyes.

“You didn’t want that?” his voice was quiet and shaky and Len backed up into the cushions before schooling himself and relaxing. Barry naked on the dirty carpet was wrong somehow, like a bad taste in the back of his throat.

“I sure as hell didn’t ask for it,” he bit out.

“Did you not want—Leonard I want to make you feel good. I want _you_. You won’t _tell_ me what I can do to make you feel good and you don’t wanna hurt me and kissing makes it _real_ , lets me show you how much I want this, want you. I want to give you what you want.”

He felt something strange and tight seizing his system slowly. “You keep kissing me… because you think I want you to kiss me.”

Barry sighed and put his head against the inside of Len’s thigh, nodding against it. “Yeah.”

“You decided you needed to blow me… because you thought I wanted a blowjob.”

“I love oral, figure you must. I love giving it too, love making you feel good.”

“…please tell me we are not just having sex because you think I want sex from you.”

“I get so _hot_ , Leonard,” he shuddered as if to prove it, swallowed and tilted his head more fully onto Len’s thigh. “I need you. But I wanna make it good for you. The first time—you didn’t want me to kiss you, didn’t want me to blow you—but you were like concentrated sex, Leonard, ordering me around, it felt so good.”

Tentatively, Len let one hand reach forward, landing on top of Barry’s head. He wasn’t a dog so Len wasn’t quite comfortable with petting him the way he was sitting between his knees, basically whining, but he was aware that most people found touch comforting.

“But I didn’t ask you to kiss me, to do any of that. Why push it?” He needed to know. And Barry shifted, into his hand, then up, moving until he was standing sinuously, depositing himself on Len’s lap, straddling his hips.

“You touch me,” Barry put his cuffed arms around Len’s head, resting them on the back of the couch. He nuzzled Len’s jaw and Len found his hands on Barry’s waist. He was too tense to relax and too tired to have the energy to stop Barry’s machinations. “You get me off. I see the way you look—at my lips, my body. You can’t take your eyes off my cock when I get naked. And the way you stand so close, too close.” His teeth raked Len’s jaw and his chest was too tight for him to move, to speak and shut Barry up. “You _want_ me.”

Fuck. _Fuck_.

“You’re so _noble_ , Leonard, it takes so much for you to take what you want. For you to kiss me back, fuck me till I can hardly breathe, fuck down my throat. I want it. I want _you_ to want it. I want to make you feel good, to help you let go and take whatever you want from me.”

He rolled his hips when he said it and Len could feel his own arousal warm in the pit of his belly again. It was way too fast for it to go anywhere and his heart was beating way too hard and heavy for his blood to pool south and make him hard, but even so he swallowed around the lump in his throat while Barry kissed his neck.

“It’s okay to want me.”

He wanted to deny it but he didn’t see any point. He took a breath, forced his brain to ignore the instinctual panic that came with being caught red-handed. It was a feeling he knew all too well, after all, so he focused and switched tracks.

“You do realize you’re cursed, right Barry?” His hands were on Barry’s thighs and he squeezed gently. “That it’s your fever talking, making you want it?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” he rasped, hard cock pressing against Len’s stomach. “I do. Still want to do anything for you. I know it’s the curse but I—I just wanna make you feel good.”

A thought struck him.

“If you want to do _anything_ , what would you do if I asked you to get me a beer?”

Barry was already moving out of his lap but Len clamped his hands around his thighs to stop him.

“It’s a hypothetical.”

“I’d get you a beer.”

That was curious. Len tilted his head, starting to feel more even. “If I asked you to get dressed?”

“If you like me better that way.”

Len hummed. He pulled at the thread a little harder. “If I told you to run to your little lab and run back?”

Barry actually laughed, leaning up on his knees so he was looking down at Len, grinning. “Of course.”

“What if I told you to _steal_ something for me?”

Barry opened his mouth, then a faint shadow pressed over his face. His eyebrows knitted together and Len pressed it.

“What if I told you to head to the nearest First National right now and steal me something shiny from a safety deposit box— _without_ getting yourself caught or even on camera?”

Barry made a whining noise in his throat and Len wondered about this curse, about how deep it went—

“Like your robbery.”

“Exactly.”

Could Barry be pushed, in this state, to submit? Would it _work_?

“You want that?” Barry asked, panting a little, eyebrows furrowed, tense. Len’s eyes narrowed, hands smoothing over Barry’s thighs.

“Yes.”

Barry folded into him, muscles almost shaking with how tight they were, head on Len’s shoulder. “I… _nnn_. I trust you. I trust—which—which box?” Even his voice was strained.

“Number 37, at the branch on 51st street.”

He whined again, “my cuffs.”

He was—Len swallowed. He was going to do this. And it was base taking advantage, of that he had _no_ doubt. But what if Barry didn’t need to bend over for Len? What if he needed to _bend over_ for Len in a far more abstract way? The curse didn’t say anything about sex. Maybe giving this to Len would—

“Key’s on the coffee table.”

Barry pulled away from him. He was shaking just a little, hands fumbling with the key until Len took it from him and undid the cuffs. He felt wide awake now.

“Number 37, don’t get noticed or caught—and come right back here.”

Barry’s eyes met his. They were glassy. “ _Yeah._ ”

Len debated, suddenly, if it was safe to let Barry go in this state but—he was already gone. Suit off the floor and door closed behind him.

Fuck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Len did that.
> 
> Honestly, I know this probably seems like a really cruel cliffhanger but I actually wrote this scene as one long continuous one (all from Len's POV) and then it got way too long and I had to split it across chapters, and this was the best place to make that split :D So it's not as terrible as it might seem right now.
> 
> And inb4, some of you might take some objection to how, well, everyone handled things this chapter. That's fine. Conversations will be had all around. But please realize that these characters are imperfect before you feel a knee-jerk reaction to hate on any of them, especially Iris? She's under a lot of strain and she's getting *very* little from Barry right now in terms of communication and she's acting out of fear and concern. So just please don't... bash her? You can be uncomfortable with her actions the same as any character's actions (characters, like people, are imperfect) but yeah please don't hate on her. I just... don't have the energy for Iris-hate. (This isn't directed at any one person, for the record, it's just something that ends up happening, where some people hate on Iris in an unreasonable way and I just... yeah. Please don't). 
> 
> Discussions of characters being fuck-ups or their imperfections and examining their headspace and motives are always lovely though!! These beautiful fuck-ups, I love them so.
> 
> Also, if you're wondering about the slow update schedule, it's just that life is busy as all heck. But I love this fic (and my other WIP) and I absolutely am floored by the love and reception I've had from it so thank you all! I'll try to keep posting as quick as I can.
> 
> As always, comments are love. <3
> 
> PS - sorry if there's typos, I tried to edit but yeah.


	7. Caustic Cures

 

Len regretted it instantly. Not the least because he was planning to steal that ruby himself but no. He could care less about the fact that he was sending the Flash on his errands, but if something happened to Barry in this state, it was on him.

He pulled out his phone, glancing at Iris in the contacts. He stared for three minutes, five seconds. How long would Barry take? Shouldn’t he be back by now?

_Why is your team so sure the cure to this thing is sex?_

It was still under five minutes. No need to worry her yet. He glanced at the door again before his phone pinged.

_Is he okay? Is sex not working? Can I call?_

She definitely wasn’t asleep. That was good.

 _He’s fine_. (In theory, he didn’t add.) _Sex will work. But it’s a bandaid solution. Don’t call._

_We’re sure the cure is sex because Barry’s sure. He said it had to be, because of the dreams._

Dreams? _What dreams_?

_I’m calling._

A streak of lightning lit up the living room and Barry was there, pushing down his cowl, flushed and looking triumphant.

“For you.” He held out his hand, the egg-sized ruby revealing itself. Len was already on his feet.

“What took you so long?”

Barry pulled back at the harsh tone, looking disproportionately distraught from it. “You said not to get caught. I had to disable and re-enable the security.”

Oh. Damn. That was—

“It _is_ what you wanted, right?”

“Yes, Barry. I wanted the ruby. Now—” His phone rang. He sighed and snapped it up to his ear. “I told you it’s _fine_.”

“Your texts didn’t really inspire confidence.”

He could almost picture the frown in her voice. A few feet away, Barry was unzipping his suit. Definitely not cured. “I decided to test some other solutions. They didn’t work.”

“What _other_ —”

“Now isn’t the time for this. Barry can debrief your team later.”

He hung up. Barry was in his underwear.

“Iris?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Barry hummed, coming over to him, taking the phone from his hand. He kissed Len and Len wished he knew when he’d stopped feeling like the one in control of these situations.

“I want you.”

“I’m well aware,” Len drawled in response.

“When I’m with you you’re all I think about.”

“I’m not _jealous_ , Barry.” Barry ran his hands down his front and Len pushed him off. “Later.”

“Can I help you relax?”

His hair was askew from his cowl, making his pout almost cute. It didn’t matter. Len wanted to send him home, to send him back to Iris instead of taking him to the bedroom in this dingy safehouse and finishing the job. There was something sour about getting Barry to steal for him and having it do nothing. About the entire night, really, from the ineffectual blowjob to the fact that Barry knew that Len wanted him, that he kissed and sucked off Len because of Len’s own desire.

Oh and how _that_ rankled. Was it why Barry had been so insistent in reassuring Len that he didn’t think Len was raping him? Because he could tell he wanted him, and didn’t want for Len to blame their situation on his own desire? He needn’t have worried if that was the case, because Len might be raping Barry but his desire had nothing to do with it, he wasn’t that kind of man. Just the type of man to send the Flash out on his errands despite knowing he’d rather do anything but that, only to test an idea that didn’t work anyway.

“Follow me,” he said instead of answering Barry’s question. He led him to the small bedroom in the safehouse, the old queen sized bed. He moved to take his boots off, sitting on the side of it. “Might as well get comfortable.”

“Can I touch you?”

He didn’t answer Barry but the man moved behind him anyway, sitting on the bed, hands falling onto Len’s shoulders. He wasn’t wearing his cuffs anymore and his hands had the motion range to dig in, thumbs pressing hard into knots in his muscles, finding them immediately. Len hissed, sitting up straight.

“ _Relax_ ,” Barry’s voice was velvet.

“Mm.” He agreed, not stopping Barry. There was no reason to, except for his already abased pride. This would help. He’d relax, warm up again, forget about his humiliation and then maybe he’d be ready to fuck Barry properly. Barry worked his shoulders diligently, fingers digging in, sliding over the fabric of his shirts.

“This would be easier,” he leaned forward to kiss Len’s neck, “if I could…” he trailed his fingers down, pulling at Len’s sweater. He tensed. “You don’t have to be shy with me. I don’t care about your scars.” Barry’s voice was soft, fervent. It made Len’s skin itch. Not the least of which was because even without seeing, Barry knew what was on his skin.

“I’m not _shy_ , Barry.”

“Don’t you like being touched?”

More than he ought to. He knew being touch starved was a real condition, one he probably had with how little he let others near, especially since starting his charade with Barry. No routine appointment with Angie to help soothe that need. Skin on skin contact could be overwhelming at times, almost too enjoyable. He wasn’t ready to let go like that with Barry, to crave his hands everywhere.

But.

He pulled off his shirts, baring his back. Because he wasn’t shy, he just didn’t feel like putting himself on display for anyone who didn’t have a reason to see it.

“ _Don’t_ wax poetic on me about it.” About the scars. He hated when people tried to take their pity and make a big deal out of each one. He didn’t need Barry pretending to kiss them away.

But Barry just slid his hands down Len’s back in appreciation, not lingering over any of them. “Lay down.”

He shivered at the contact, Barry’s hands warm and smooth against his skin. “Thought I was supposed to give the orders here.”

Barry’s lips were at his ear, “lay down… _please_?”

It was far too full of insinuation. Len’s cock twitched inside his jeans. This was the right direction, at least.

“So long as you file this under things we’re never discussing.”

Barry hummed next to his ear, kissed his neck. “Of course.” He moved back and Len sighed and gave in. It was one in the morning on a Thursday night and the Scarlet Speedster was going to give Captain Cold a backrub. Naturally.

Barry was _good_ at it though. His hands were sure and strong, pressing in hard in all the right places. And if the paid attention to Len’s scars, it was only to navigate how the tissue under them knotted his muscles in different ways. He didn’t back off when Len hissed, just settled deeper over Len’s thighs—at some point he’d straddled Len’s thighs—and maneuvered better, dug in more. Len honest to god groaned when Barry returned his attention to his shoulders, massaging in circles. His hands felt too good, too warm and right, smooth and the _contact_ —just someone touching him like this, this much, was turning into a natural high, tingly up to the roots of his hair, the tips of his toes.

It was almost too much when Barry added just a hint of vibration to the sorest spots, working out knots gentler. He had to bite back moans. This was a terrible idea. He woke himself up a bit from the fuzzy comfort.

“Didn’t know you could do that.”

“I can do so much more.”

He ignored the insinuation again and cast about for a distraction. He wasn’t ready to be close yet, and he didn’t need slow, marathon-length sex with Barry and his vibrating wonders. “So blowjobs don’t work, _stealing_ doesn’t work, don’t figure this back rub is gonna work. Why is it just sex?”

And why was he so much more lucid after the blowjob, so much more insightful in his comments after getting the ruby?

“I don’t care.” His voice sounded raspy again and Len didn’t miss how tense Barry’s own thighs were, pressed over his own. He smoothed his hands out over Len’s skin.

“Pretty sure you wouldn’t say that sober.”

“No but I—you’re perfect, Leonard.” He tensed under Barry’s hands. “You are—so sexy, so good to me. I want you—why would I want to be cured when you’re so amazing?”

Len leaned up on his elbows. Barry pressed his thumbs into his neck in a way that was altogether too satisfying. “For starters, pretty sure you want to return to that girlfriend you’re so fond of.”

“You know that there’s nothing— _nothing_ I wouldn’t do for you.”

Len rolled his eyes and rolled over, giving up on the excellent neck rub to glare at Barry. Somehow, even after he was on his back, Barry managed to stay straddling him. “I told you I’m not jealous, Barry. It’s a statement of fact. She’s worried about you. Even like this, you oughtta care about that.”

A little furrow appeared between Barry’s brows. His grey-green eyes were glassy and darker than they ought to be, he was tenting his boxers, and his hands were warm on Len’s chest.

“Yeah,” he rasped finally. “I want—” He broke off and licked his lips.

“Want to be cured?”

“Want you both.”

Len’s eyes widened. Barry’s expression went from overly thick brows pushed together to sweeping relief in an instant, smile delighting his face.

“I think about it,” he pressed on, then leaned down and captured Len’s lower lip. His hands moved to Barry’s thighs of their own accord.

“I bet you do,” he murmured back, mostly unthinking.

“All the time.” Barry lined up their hips, grinding down over Len. “You fucking me, her kissing me while you do. I’d moan into her mouth and cum sitting on your cock.”

Len’s throat stuck. That was not what he was expecting to hear.

“Her and me together, you watching, telling me how to please her—”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Me sucking you off while I’m inside her. Fuck, I think about you— _god_ —I think about you eating her out, about kissing you after and tasting her on your mouth—”

“Jesus _fuck_ Barry stop talking,” he panted. He was achingly hard, grinding up into Barry to match his movements, picturing it in technicolor.

“She tastes so good, Leonard.”

He did not need to know that. Didn’t need to be picturing it. “Just shut up and get off me so I can get out of these jeans.”

He started because—shit. Barry wasn’t in his cuffs. Len’s jeans were off in a lightning-fast instant and Barry was back in place, grinding against him, both of them naked. Barry was kissing him deep.

“Want you so bad—”

It was disorienting, how fast he moved, how suddenly his lips were on Len’s, how much skin was connected between them. He refocused.

“You need prep—”

Barry leaned over and scoured through the nightstand until he grabbed out the lubricant. Len reached for it.

“I can,” Barry pulled back, face flushed. Fevered. “Speed it up.”

He hadn’t considered that. “ _Fine_.”

Barry reached behind himself and—what a view. Len shouldn’t savor it. Barry already knew Len got off on this, on _him_ —he didn’t need to indulge any more than he already had. But Barry was arched up, mouth open in pleasure as he fingered himself at high speed, muscled thighs taught under Len’s hands. He moaned at whatever his fingers were doing and Len suspected vibration. His cock throbbed just thinking about it.

“I’m ready.” He moved his hand to Len’s cock, stroking, slicking it with lube. “So ready for you.” He shifted, pressing himself onto the tip of Len’s cock. This was going too fast.

“Condom—”

“Nnn, don’t need it. Wanna be full of it.”

“Barry—” he was going to admonish, to change their position but his breath left him, feeling Barry sink onto his cock. _Fuck_. He was so tight, clenching with each inch that pressed inside. Len’s hands moved to his waist, helped guide his descent until Barry was impaled on him, arched up to take it. He was beautiful.

It was impossible to convince himself not to enjoy this.

“ _Yes_ —god, Leonard— _finally_ —”

Len growled, rolling up his hips to thrust. It was Barry’s goddamn fault this took so long this evening. Except not really, not actually because he wasn’t in control and—

He groaned, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t keep counting the moles on Barry’s skin, wouldn’t keep making eye contact with his fever-hazy gaze while Barry rode his cock. Slick heat clamped around him on each thrust, each roll of Barry’s hips to meet his own, and once his eyes were closed all he could do was _feel_. Barry’s skin felt like it was everywhere—around him, over him, against him, from his thighs to his hands to everything else. Len’s hands were tight on his hips, pulling him down harder as he got closer.

“Leonard, Lenny—god—please touch me, please I wanna—”

His eyes snapped open—terrible idea—and Barry could touch himself, he wasn’t cuffed, but he was begging Len to do it and did Barry want it or just think Len wanted to touch him? He dug his fingers harder into Barry’s hips.

“Touch yourself, Barry.”

The man groaned, rocked himself hard onto Len and took himself in hand. “Want you so bad, want to feel you fill me up—you fill me up so good.”

Len’s eyes strayed to where they were joined, his cock disappearing into Barry, no latex in the way. That should absolutely not turn him on more but he sped up his thrusts, snapping his hips up to meet Barry, getting deeper.

Barry moaned, voice pitching loud and more desperate, starting to beg in that way he had, rocking down onto Len and he started to—jesus he—

He was vibrating. Len’s eyes went wide watching Barry, hand on his cock untraceable as it shook too quick to see. Barry started to gasp desperately, thighs vibrating, whole _body_ vibrating, obscured for a half second before he speared himself fully on Len’s cock, clenching around it and it pulsed in time with the rest of him. Len moaned, swore because it felt _unreal_ , holding on to Barry’s vibrating waist and feeling the sensations up his spine and he felt Barry’s cum hit his stomach but he was so focused on—

“ _Fuck_ , Barry, don’t stop I’m almost—”

Barry groaned, leaning forward over him but he kept vibrating and it overtook Len. He felt Barry’s panted breaths against his cheek as he rocked up into the other man, into the heat sucking him in and vibrating around his cock, so intense he almost couldn’t breathe as he held on and held Barry there against him, shooting inside of him.

He had to gasp in his next breath, just beginning to come down from his orgasm, from the intensity of it but Barry sat up sharply, pulled out of his grip and stared down at him with slowly-widening eyes.

Len swallowed. Consequences.

Barry was off him at lightning speed and it was jarring. The afterglow stopped short. He sat up. Barry wiped his hand over his forehead and drew it back over his hair. He leaned against the wall with wide eyes, panting a little.

“Barry?”

“That was—the last _hour_ —you—I gave you a—I _stole_ a— _you_ —” he closed his eyes as if to process and Len pursed his lips. He gave Barry a second then put them back on an even footing.

“You stole a ruby. Don’t even think about returning it.”

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” Barry spat out, venom in his voice and Len really had no desire to put up with a mood if Barry was in one. Len did _him_ a favor here, agreeing to this mess tonight. He started to haul on his pants, suddenly hating that he was naked.

“You had me run out to First National for _what_ —to prove a theory? To get me to—” he cut off and Len’s eyes went to him. He’d taken three steps in Len’s direction then stopped, eyes screwed shut, face tight. Ah.

“Go clean up, Barry. You can yell at me after.”

He disappeared with a lightning trail and Len pulled a shirt on. He’d need to clean up too, but it was a small favor, letting Barry clean Len’s cum out of him first.

The bathroom was empty by the time he made it down the hall and slipped inside, cleaned himself up and pissed, tried to get his head on straight for a second. He reviewed the last hour and half with a wince. He was exhausted, caffeinated, sexually and sensually sated enough that he should be in a good mood but thinking about Barry across the room, pressed back to the wall…

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. He’d done way, way too much. Accepted too much. Shown too many of his own cards in the process. The massage, the blowjob, the noise _he’d_ made when Barry started to vibrate. He wasn’t _supposed_ to enjoy this. He shoved that thought aside. This is what good intentions got you. That thought wasn’t helpful either.

He forced his brain to push past the white noise. The reality crashing in. The ruby was what Barry cared most about. Fine. He’d let him take it back since it meant that much to him. Len planned to steal it himself anyway.

He steeled himself and left the bathroom.

Barry was in the Flash suit again, cowl down, leaning against the back of the couch, gripping it. His body language, expression, it all screamed internal conflict. Len leaned against the wall at the opening of the living room from the hallway, arms crossed.

“Out with it already.”

Barry’s eyes snapped to his. “You can’t just _do_ shit like that.”

“Won’t need to again, since it didn’t work.”

“Why were you on the phone with Iris?”

Len tensed. He hadn’t considered that angle for Barry’s anger. He forced himself to relax against the wall, using one hand to gesture as he drawled, “you dawdled at the bank. It behooved me to contact her in case you got yourself into a neat little pickle. Not to mention I told her I’d let her know you were here when you got in.”

“You—what?”

Len opened his mouth and closed it. Their relationship wasn’t any of his business.

“She asked you to… did you she call you? Earlier?”

Except that it was when they made it his business. “Implied you might run yourself into the ground if I didn’t ease up a bit.”

Barry dragged a hand over his face and muttered something Len couldn’t hear. “What’d she say, exactly?”

He examined his cuticles. “Does it matter?”

“Is that why—you said it was her fault.”

“What?”

“When I was…” he made a vague gesture and Len remembered. He winced.

“Slip of the tongue but _yes_ , I was referring to her appealing to the better angels of my nature you seem to’ve convinced her I have. Something about being compassionate to you. I decided to take _pity_.”

Barry’s scowl was deep and dark. “She didn’t need to appeal to _anything_ from you.”

“She _did_ , apparently.” The ice in his voice surprised him, and so did the genuine anger that rose up inside him with it. “If you can’t handle a five-day schedule then _say_ so, Barry.”

“We agreed to try it—”

“ _I_ agreed on the assumption you might be smart enough to speak up if you couldn’t handle it. It’s not doing any good to have these little chit-chats after the fact.”

“What’s not doing any _good_ is you deciding to try solutions on your own!” Barry half-shouted, chest heaving as he stood to his full height, arms out in anger. Len’s eyes narrowed but he kept going. “First with the Rogues thinking you could—what, twist my arm into submitting to giving you whatever you want? Well I can’t, Snart! That’s not how this works! And getting me to run your errands or rub your back or suc—”

“ _Don’t_ —” Len’s voice was dangerously low, not an idle threat. He had a finger raised, pointing at the other man, “even _think_ about finishing that sentence, Barry. You try spending _weeks_ on my end of this bargain with someone begging to suck your cock and see if you don’t at least consider it as a solution since you and your team aren’t _fucking trying anything_!”

He snarled it out, moved toward Barry as he spoke.

“We’re trying—”

“ _What_?! Tell me Barry—because right now the brightest idea your team has had was to call me in the first place and that wasn’t even them, that was Iris, so get off your high horse for half a second and forgive me if I feel like she and I are the only ones actually attempting to _do_ anything about this curse of y—”

“Do _not_ —” Barry was in his space, nose to nose, angry as he’d ever seen him, “do _not_ bring Iris into this anymore more than she already is. _Any_ of this. Not again. Not for calls, not texts, not goddamn _questions_ when I’m high out of my mind and ready to say—”

He broke off and Len’s eyes narrowed. His heart was hammering in his chest, all the lightning in Barry’s eyes a bit much but it clicked, suddenly.

“So that’s what this is about?” he drawled, cruel and in control again. “Not the ruby, not all the ways I took advantage—this is about _her_.”

Barry stepped back, holding the back of his wrist to his mouth, obviously holding something in.

“Is it that she called me? How she begged me to help you? Or when she called me again while you were here, that I talked to her while you were in the fever, made her worry?” he stepped forward and relished in Barry stepping back. “It’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s what you said, about how you think about her with—”

“ _Stop_!” Barry closed his eyes then opened them, looking away, jaw hard and set, the little muscle in it twitching. Any further and he was going to hate Len or else start swinging. It was almost tempting. But he backed off, stepped back, chilled out.

“You can cool it, Barry. I don’t care about your fantasies and wasn’t trying to pry before either. I don’t exactly give much credit to anything you say while grinding on me.” Now though, now he almost had to give credit to what Barry said, seeing how it affected him.

Barry’s eyes flashed to him. “Iris is off limits.”

“No argument here.”

“So is getting me to steal for you,” he pressed. “I agreed I can’t throw you in the Heights but—”

“It was a test. It failed. I don’t much care to have all my heists handed to me—ruins the chase.”

Barry swallowed back whatever he was going to say in response to that and shook his head.

“I do mean it though, about trying new methods. So long as your little team isn’t coming up with new solutions, I _will_.”

“Right. I—yeah.” Barry was deflating, relaxing again. His mouth screwed up and he did that bobble-head thing where he half-agreed. “The blowjob was… fine, Leonard. I thought it might work as good as sex too.” Len felt his shoulders un-tense while Barry glanced the side, a little bitter in his frown. “Guess we’re not that lucky.”

“Guess not.” He still didn’t fully understand _why_ it didn’t work, either. That was vexing.

“Cisco and Caitlin have…”

“Have?”

“Suggested stuff. Solutions,” he winced. “Cisco wanted us to try it without the cuffs. Guess we crossed that one off the list.”

“Why?”

“I can’t access the speedforce with them on. He thinks it might not be ‘real’ submission if I’m not 100% me.”

Something about that gave Len pause, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. “So there’s a chance you’re cured now?”

Barry heaved a sigh. “Guess we’ll find out in a few days.”

“How long?”

Barry was moving around again, making motions of impatience that Len took as a sign he was ready to head out the door. He scratched the back of his head, “tomorrow night. If Caitlin takes my temperature it should show by then.”

“Call me and let me know. If you’re _not_ good, I wanna sit down with your team.”

Barry looked affronted. “They’re doing the best they can.”

Their best was obviously not good enough. “Many minds make light work.”

“That’s not the saying.”

He shrugged one shoulder and Barry rolled his eyes. He was by the door now. “Anything else?”

Len hesitated.

“Leonard?”

“Nothing, Barry. Go home.”

He did. Len sighed and went to shower, tried to put all questions about what else might be off limits out of his mind. Tried not to think of the best way to phrase questions about what about this was harder or easier on Barry, tried to put all thoughts about Barry and Iris away too. He didn’t need to think about that; even as a thief, it was never going to be his. Somehow, he doubted he was going to be able to think of anything else.

 

[ … ]

 

Iris was still up when he got back. He expected it, after what Leonard had said, but he still wasn’t ready for it. Not really. There was no way not to have this discussion now though.

She was off the couch as soon as he was in the door. “Oh thank god—”

“We need to talk.”

She stopped sort and he considered that terrible word choice. So he dove right into it.

“Why did you call Leonard?”

Her affronted expression told him that she definitely thought _he_ was the one out of line in this conversation.

“Be _-cause_ , Barry—you ran out of here talking about running all night and I _know_ you haven’t been eating enough for that and you said something about he doesn’t _want_ you—what else was I supposed to do?”

He shook his head, glaring at the wall. She came a step closer and reached out to touch him and he stepped back and hated himself for how she recoiled.

“Barr? Are you—did he hurt you?”

He drew in a breath that was entirely too wet and felt his eyes sting and no—no she was going to get the wrong idea all over again, he could see the horror on her face and—

“No, Iris—he didn’t—it’s not like that. I keep telling you it’s not—”

“I know,” she sniffed, pressed her fingers over her lips and curled in on herself. She was cradling her elbow with her other hand and she seldom looked so _small_. “I’m sorry, I know, you just…”

He nodded, feeling so out of sorts. “Why can’t you just trust me? That it’s okay, that I’ll handle it? Why do you have to call him, or any of it?”

“I do trust you—”

“Then why—”

“You don’t know what it was like!” She let out a sob, then stopped and turned so he couldn’t see her face and he felt gutted, watching her cry. He reached out and felt something unknot when she didn’t shrug his hand off her shoulder. He should never have rebuffed her.

“What what was like?” he whispered.

“Watching you in that pipeline—sending _him_ in there because I couldn’t—none of us could _help_ you.” She was crying still but leaning into his front, pressed along her back and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, felt her wrap her hands up over his forearms. “I can’t help you, Barry, and I _hate_ it. I hate that the only thing I can do is call someone to _violate_ you. I hate that it hurts you—that _I_ hurt you and _I’m sorry_ —” she choked on the words “that I sent you there sooner. I just wanted you to feel better.”

He tightened his grip. “Is that… you think that’s what you’re doing?”

She didn’t say anything, just worked to get her breathing under her control and he wished he could see her face but it was good like this, holding on to her.

“Iris, you’re not hurting me. You’re helping me. You are, I mean it. Calling him, asking him for that? It _did_ help—I can work tomorrow, I can _think_ again. And at home—Iris you’re doing so much. You’re not just keeping me alive, you’re keeping me _sane_.” He let out a quiet, halfway bitter laugh into her hair. “Y’know he feels like you’re the only one even trying anything to fix this?”

She barked out a laugh too, settling into him more naturally, less strained. “You told him about the cult?”

Whoops. He knew he was forgetting something. “Not yet. Just… for all you’ve done so far.”

“Barry?”

“Yeah?”

“What… happened tonight? Why did it…”

He sighed and disentangled himself from her. Iris thought he was suffering every time this happened. That she was responsible for some of that, calling in Leonard to _do_ that. And Barry might hate himself for the truth, but he couldn’t let Iris hate herself for that lie.

They sat down on the couch. He winced through the explanation, staring mostly at his hands, keeping the details out of it. But he told her about the blowjob, the way he felt after, almost loopy (“what do you mean?”)—like he could separate who he was under the fever and who he was outside of it, could think more clear and logical but how all he wanted to do still came back to making Leonard feel good. And he told her about Snart sending him for that goddamn ruby (“he did _what_?”), frustration tightening his shoulders when he explained what he was pretty sure Snart was up to, making him _submit_ in a new and special way. Before he could convince himself not to, he also told her about the backrub that turned into sex, finally.

“He took advantage of you.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole.”

“He shouldn’t have—”

“I _know_ , Iris, but it’s—” he sighed, leaning back into the cushions. “We talked about it, and he agreed not to again. He’s just…” he frowned. “He’s pissed. He doesn’t think we’re trying enough to fix this. And he’s right.”

“Barry you’re doing _everything_ —”

“No I—” he dragged a hand over his face. “We aren’t. You were right—we should’ve done more to look into the cult. We should be trying different sex things each time—the blowjob was a good idea even if it didn’t work. And he—he’s got the worst deal out of the two of us so I can’t blame him for wanting to fix it.”

“ _He’s_ got the worst deal? Barry you’re the one who—”

“No. That’s… that’s where you keep getting it wrong, Iris.” He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. He couldn’t look at her while explaining this. Her hand was on his arm and he sighed. Might as well get this over with. “I like it.”

He felt her tense but she didn’t say anything and he closed his eyes.

“The curse it doesn’t—you act like it possesses me, like it walks around in my body and makes me do things and I’m just this passenger with no control but that’s not how it _feels_ , Iris. I—it feels like being so turned on I can’t breathe and wanting him so bad I’d do anything for him. Like this desperate infatuation.”

“That doesn’t mean you want it—”

“I _know_. I know. When I’m normal, after— _now_ —then I know that but in the moment? It’s not like I’m fighting some intrusive feeling. It doesn’t hurt, I’m not scared, or in pain—it’s not traumatizing me. You need stress or fear to feel trauma and I just feel… good.”

“It’s still a violation, Barry. You know that.”

He nodded, eyes drifting open again. “It’s still rape. I know. But it only feels like that when I think about it in the abstract? There’s too much _want_ for it to feel like that in the moment. So that’s why I can’t let you keep thinking he’s hurting me. He’s doing the opposite. Each time he—I push him for so much more than he wants to give me each time and it— _all_ of it, the sex, the backrub, just being around him—it feels… fulfilling.”

“Until you come down.”

“Yeah. But even then… it’s not his fault, I don’t feel used by him… It’s more like…”

“You kissed him.”

On the rooftop. He hated that she heard that. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

He really did. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m… exhausted. And I can’t pretend I’m _thrilled_ you enjoy being intimate with another person, least of all a criminal who doesn’t mind robbing banks in broad daylight but… it _is_ better than the alternative.” She flopped back against the cushions too, her thigh pressed along his. “It’s better than you feeling locked in and out of control. It’s a _lot_ better that it’s not hurting you. And I’m happier that you told me now instead of hiding it.”

He could finally look at her again, feeling worn thin and watery but safe, too. “Yeah?”

“Of course. But there’s still one thing I don’t understand.”

She turned to him and threw her legs over his lap, which he was taking as proof enough that whatever fight they were having was over now, settling his hands on her shins.

“If it’s not terrible, why don’t you want to do it every four days instead of five?”

He ducked his head, hands smoothing over her skin, the prickles of hair just beginning to grow back in. “It’s better on me, but harder on him. And he’s the one who’s really being violated here, so I don’t think it’s fair to push for more from him.”

“He sent you for a _bank robbery_ and got a backrub for it!”

He winced. “Yeah but—he’s also the one who _is_ lucid, whose brain doesn’t pump him full of hormones to make this all feel good and normal.”

She did a double-take. “That’s what you meant? When you said he didn’t want you?”

He felt his stomach turn a little bit again. No, that hadn’t been what he meant. Because Snart did want him. But it wasn’t his place to tell her all of that, not really.

“Snart thinks he’s raping me. And he’s not that kind of asshole. He doesn’t have a fever to fall back on as an excuse for it feeling good, either.”

She opened her mouth and closed it, eyebrows drawn together. “He’s literally saving your life.”

“Imagine how you would feel in his shoes.”

She looked pained. “He’s robbed banks, he’s killed people and you’re saying that he… feels _that_ guilty? About something you…enjoy?”

Barry wished he could explain. That was just… Snart. “He doesn’t have lines in the sand. He has lines, period. This crosses one of them.”

“I didn’t know Snart _felt_ guilt.”

Barry laughed but it turned into a sigh. “You’d be surprised, Iris. You and him keep looking at this situation the same. Just put yourself in his shoes and think of what you’d do in his situation and you’ll probably come to the right conclusion about him.”

“On _that_ disturbing piece of information… I understand what you’re saying, and I’ll try to do better but… it’s almost three. Bed time?”

Finally, something they could easily agree on.

 

[ … ]

 

_You’re coming by the lab tonight, right?_

Len blinked at Iris’s number on his screen. Iris was off limits. If only _she_ knew that. Not that he imagined she’d be keen on the idea of Barry dictating anything to do with her.

He sighed, reluctantly typing out a response.

_Assuming the fever starts up again._

His phone rang. Did she have to insist on being a walking conundrum? He answered it. “Always a pleasure, Iris.”

“Snart, hi.”

“How can I help you today?” He pushed at his cuticles with his thumbnail.

“I just wanted to let you know I’ll be at the lab tonight…” maybe she did know she was off limits? “And that I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“For pushing so hard. I know—Barry explained somethings last night and I know that I dragged you into this, that it’s something you don’t really feel you have much of a say in. So I need you to know that I appreciate it. All of it, what you’re doing for Barry, how easily you agreed to help. And if I ever push too hard, or ask for something you’re not comfortable with—”

“I’m not _comfortable_ with any of what I’m doing to Barry, Iris, but that’s not on you and there’s no reason to drag you into it.”

He heard her intake of breath over the line. “I—you’re saving him. That’s how all of us see it. But I understand if that’s not really how you… I was the person who dragged _you_ into it, so I’m just… sorry for putting you in this position.”

This was ranking high on his list of least favorite conversations he’d ever had. He glared out his kitchen window into the bright, afternoon sunlight.

“You’re doing everything in your power to save the man you love. Never apologize for that, Iris—least of all to me.”

His voice was too soft, too real but the silence on the other end of the line told him he’d managed to drive the point home. He shook himself and added, colder, “mind your side of this ‘n I’ll mind mine, hm? I’ll see you tonight.”

He hung out without waiting for her to say goodbye.

 

[ … ]

 

To no one’s surprise—or at least, not his—Barry ended up calling him that evening. The curse was still intact. He said nothing of the afternoon call from Iris so Len didn’t either.

“I’ll be by your lab in twenty.”

He idly wondered what Barry had told his team about the prior evening, but didn’t have to wonder too hard when he walked in to the room they had setup for brainstorming, a few levels below their ‘cortex’. Cisco was standing in front of a whiteboard with columns on it, all things Len recognized as attempts they’d made at breaking the curse. The list included sex, condomless sex, cuffs, no cuffs, stealing – ruby, kissing (did that really need to be on there?), following orders, backrub (or that?), and oral sex.

Len glared at it rather than look at anyone else in the room. _Three_ Wests, though Joe and the younger one, Wally, beat a hasty retreat once Len arrived, more than happy to excuse themselves from discussing Barry’s sex life. It was all the same to Len, really, but he could see both Iris and Barry were relieved to see them go.

It turned out that their team had been busier than Barry made it seem, though. Iris and Cisco filled him in with updates on the witch, this cult with more magic, how they knew who their witch was and still couldn’t find her. He made sure to get a name and description. They told him  how Van Trost said she wouldn’t be much help even if they could find her, that not even the witch could break this curse. It didn’t sound promising. Not any more promising than the damning list written in happy blue dry erase ink up on that board.

“Let’s go back to last night,” Caitlin suggested after her team’s side of the explanation was done. “Barry said he was acting differently after performing oral sex?”

Len almost envied her stalwart ability to make everything sound clinical. “Very.”

“Different how?” Caitlin pressed, glancing more at Barry when she did. Barry just shook his head, looking slightly at a loss. Len gave into the urge to roll his eyes.

“Like he took a hit’ve some designer club drug.”

“It was more like… like if we had sex on a day 3 and I could think straight but still got whatever pheromone kick I get from being around you. Like maybe if I wasn’t around you after that, I would’ve got my head back on straight for a day.”

Great. That information would’ve been pertinent the night before. “Unless your next suggestion is to try out new bedroom tricks and test how well they work, I don’t see how that helps us any.”

“It tells us a lot, actually dude,” Cisco made a note on the whiteboard. “Maybe there’s some secret to the right _type_ of sex to fix it?”

“Or like a lot of things in one?” Caitlin added, “a combination?”

Barry’s eyebrows were climbing and Len was sure his own mirrored them. Considering the combination of things they did last night, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the scientists might cook up for them to try next.

“Before you all get carried away throwing out suggestions for kinky sex we should have,” Len glared at the doctor when he said that, pleased she flushed to her ears. “Why is sex the solution you’re all fixated on? Something about… dreams?”

Barry frowned in his direction. “Yeah, dreams.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Iris placed a hand on Barry’s arm. Cisco looked down and twiddled his fingers. Len wondered why they had to be so dramatic. Finally, Barry sighed and glanced his way.

“The first week this happened, I started having dreams. About my enemies, only people who’d tried to off me. All the dreams had some type of sexual overtone.”

“I see.” He tilted his head, curious what exactly Barry dreamt about involving him. Not curious enough to ask. “So you’re basing your _entire_ strategy on the type of dream you had—”

“Still have—”

Now that was interesting—“ _Have_ instead of testing other things.”

Caitlin looked affronted, wringing her hands and cutting in. “Given that it was our only clue and helped his fever, and fits with the intent of the curse… it makes sense to assume the solution involves sex.”

“It’s why I didn’t bother _offering_ to steal things for you,” Barry scowled. “In the dreams I’m—it’s about _pleasing_ my enemies and sure, I would steal in them—did steal, whatever—but that doesn’t do anything to the heat, the desire.”

Len drummed his fingers against the console he was standing by, thinking. “Is that all there is to these dreams? Sex with people who’ve wanted you dead?”

Barry’s expression was surprisingly dark, all things considered. “It’s the only constant across them all. The people change, the things I do. How much it involves submission, or violence.”

“ _Violence_?”

Barry’s chin lifted up. “I dream about the guy who killed my _mother_ , Leonard. My subconscious doesn’t exactly conjure up rose petals for him.”

Shit. Len didn’t even think… Some company he was keeping.

“Are they tailored to who you’re dreaming about then?” Iris was the one who continued the line of questioning, tilting her head as if this was news to her as well. That was interesting.

Barry scratched the back of his head. “You could say that.”

“’N the things you do with me in the waking world…” Len mused aloud. “Seems like that’s tailored to what you think I want.”

Barry’s eyes snapped to him, a distinct flush to his cheeks. “Yeah, I—yeah. It’s about… making you feel good. When I’m fevered.”

Like he needed the clarification. Len kept his eyes on Caitlin to remind himself to keep things clinical.

“So whatever it is… it’s gotta involve sex, and pleasing me.”

“Yeah but… it’s not enough, right? Unless…” he dragged a hand over his face. “Guys can we… have a sec?”

Len arched an eyebrow at him. Cisco looked ready to make a beeline for the door but the women hesitated.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Barry,” Caitlin hedged. “We agreed we’d try to figure this out together.”

“It’s not…” he looked miserably at Iris, then sighed, “yeah, okay.” He moved away from her side and closer to Len. “I’ve been doing… guesswork, this whole time. Because the situation and the fever, and you keep trying to keep things clinical so d’you think the issue might be…”

He thought about Barry the night before, talking about how _dominant_ he’d been the first time, snapping orders. He narrowed his eyes. “I need to boss you around more?”

But Barry shook his head. “That I’m not pleasing you. You’re not asking me for what _you_ want.”

The ruby, he wanted to argue. But that wasn’t for him, that was a test for Barry. And what Barry was talking about went deeper than that. Sure he’d _wanted_ a blowjob, in that it was easier than sex at midnight, but what he _really_ wanted from Barry was…

He glared at the whiteboard, doubly damning now. How would that list look in a week? A month?

There was a loud _clap_ that made them all start and stare at Cisco. He looked a little sheepish, hands together. “Well! I think we know the next thing for you guys to try. Snart just has to, uh, tell Barry what he wants in bed.”

“It won’t work.”

Every eye in the room glared at Len.

“Why not?” Iris was the first to ask.

“What I want is for him not to be cursed.”

Her eyebrows drew together, looking at him with eyes too deep and he had the horrible sensation that she was looking right into his core, all those smarts and intuition tuned into him.

Cisco interrupted their staring context and this time Len was grateful for it: “why don’t you ask him for things you’d want from someone else? Or things you like. Other than massages, I guess. Wait shouldn’t that count as pleasing him? Or did you not want a shoulder rub, Snart?”

Cisco was missing the point entirely. Iris wasn’t. Len diligently didn’t look back in her direction. “I wasn’t complaining about it.”

“So maybe we’re on the wrong track,” Barry sighed.

“Or maybe…” Cisco’s eyes were lighting up. “Last night—all of that, stealing the ruby and everything—that was all on a day 4, right?”

“So?”

“You _didn’t_ give him a carte blanche when he showed up at the bank on a day 2.”

“Like the cuffs,” Len followed Cisco’s logic, to the confusion of everyone else in the room. “Anything that makes you less you.”

“Boom! _Yes_!” Cisco was grinning. Len felt sick. Everyone else looked baffled.

“What is it?” Barry’s expression was dubious.

“It’s like—what if we’ve been going about this all the wrong way? What if it’s not working because the curse is what’s submitting, not you?”

“Not—” it clicked for him. “So what, I need to let Leonard do whatever he wants even without the curse?”

“Maybe you need to do what you do anyway—or maybe he’s still gotta tell you what he wants so you can properly please him or whatever, just… not when you’re out of it.”

Iris came forward, shaking her head. “How is it even possible for Barry and Snart to sleep together _without_ the curse? Not—I get it, Cisco,” she waved away whatever Cisco was about to say. “But I mean the curse is _always_ acting on Barry. It’s why he’s in this situation. It’s strong enough that the Priestess could _see_ it on me so how can Barry and Snart have sex without it being the curse, with or without the fever?”

“I think…” Caitlin frowned, heels clicking as she moved forward to consider the list on the board. “It makes sense, if it’s about volition. On the night of a day 4, Barry wasn’t well enough to refuse stealing for Snart. On a day 2, he _was_ well enough to stop his heist and threaten to put him behind bars, to refuse things he wouldn’t typically agree with it. So long as it happens on a day 1 or a day 2, it’s still the _fault_ of the curse in the abstract, but in practice it’s Barry _choosing_ to…err, submit.”

“I think you kids’re forgetting that Barry dragged me up onto that roof but kissed me after telling me where to get off.” Len assumed they heard the kiss, not that he was eager to make them dwell on it. “A day 2 isn’t gonna cut it, and I doubt a day 1 will if he starts to get in that headspace.”

“It will if that kiss was volitional,” Caitlin countered. Len almost snorted, but the team were all looking to Barry, and Len’s eyes shot to him too. He was conspicuously staring at his hands.

Len’s stomach flipped.

“It… I’m still myself, on day 2. I can… it’ll work.”

He caught Iris staring at him. Len looked away first, something gnawing away in his stomach, a contrast to the heavy beating of his heart.

“O-kay!” Iris smiled too bright, hand on Barry’s arm. “Sounds like we have a plan for what to do next, right? So long as you’re both okay with it of course.” She glanced at Len for confirmation and he nodded, trying not to give too much away but her wincing smile told him he failed. “SO, Barry, you can spend tonight with Snart and—”

“Tonight? You might wanna put the breaks on that, some of us have things to do this evening that don’t involve curse breaking.”

“You have a social life?” Cisco snorted and Len shot him a glare.

“My sister doesn’t take it kindly when I cancel on her. She’s suspicious enough of what I’ve been up to recently without giving her an excuse to go poking around.”

“Tomorrow?” Iris checked. He inclined his head.

“Tomorrow morning will be better anyway,” Caitlin chimed. “A day 2 should still work, especially because we’re still at less than the 24-hour mark right now, technically. And it’ll give me more data on Barry’s curse to have it reset on a day 2 instead of a day 1 when it’s barely detectable. If nothing else, it’s a Saturday so it’ll also give you the whole day to try different things—requests, orders, so long as Snart asks for what he wants from you and gives you chances to please him.”

She tilted her head at Barry. “There’s no chance I could convince you to come back here for me to take your vitals after each thing you try? No? No, right.” She shook her head at the completely flat glare Barry leveled in her direction. “Just at the end of the day then.”

“Got it,” Barry agreed, then finally looked at Len for what felt like the first time since he got here. His gaze looked as worried and sick as Len felt. “I guess I’ll… see you tomorrow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with the update. If you follow me on tumblr (@coldtomyflash), you might know life has been crazy in the past few months with travel and it's settling down now (I got a job for the future! I won't graduate from my phd without any prospects! yay!!!) but i still have a lot on my plate and some exhaustion to manage. But now that I'm back in the groove of things, updates should continue at a slightly more normal pace.
> 
> Also, this chapter is about 1200 words longer than the next-longest one (which was the previous chapter) so hopefully that helps assuage some of it. And there is a *lot* of development unfolding on the emotional and curse fronts.
> 
> Len was... exhausted by the end of the night with Barry. That's part of why his guard ended up lower than it would normally be. Between the guilt induced from Iris's call and then the ideas that backfired and just dealing with Barry in that state... sigh. His self-control was slipping.
> 
> And the next attempt should be interesting :D We finally get to return to Barry's PoV properly for a little while, as the majority of the last two chapters have been in Len's.
> 
> Thanks for all the love and lovely comments and support so far. You guys are so fantastic <3


	8. Playing House

“I brought vodka and beer!” Lisa rattled the bags in her arms with a grin.

Len almost snorted, letting her in. “We having a party, Lise?”

“Just hanging out Lenny. But _someone_ needs to unwind.”

“I take it that’s a jab?”

He accepted the beer she handed him anyway, mentally swearing off the vodka. A hangover the next morning wouldn’t help his day with Barry.

“Well _I’m_ not the one who managed to rob a bank this month and is still scowling about it.”

He rolled his eyes, “still on that?”

“Mhmm,” she took a pull from her beer and wandered to his living room and he braced himself for the interrogation. “You know Angie asked me if you found a girlfriend?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Since when do you talk to Angie?”

She was eyeing his DVD collection. “You need to get with the 21st century, brother.”

“They’re blu ray.”

Her look held just the right amount of disdain. “ _Digitize_.”

“You wanna watch something or spend the whole night forcing technology on me?”

She stepped away from the shelf. “Let’s play cards. You’re still making popcorn though.”

It was two hours, four beers, and three consecutive hand wins at poker before she brought it back up as a complete nonsequitur.

“So why _aren’t_ you cutting me into whatever you’re up to with The Flash?”

His gaze snapped to hers, missing his shuffle and dropping some cards. Dammit. Her eyes glittered and he suspected he hadn’t won the past few games on his own merit after all.

“You been buttering me up for that question?” He scooped the cards back up and resumed shuffling.

“What kind of job is it?”

“Drop it.”

She accepted the hand he dealt. “That’s the third time you’ve told me to drop it, you know.”

He leaned back in his seat and examined his hand. “You’re worried.”

“Should I be?”

If she hadn’t been before, she was now that he’d brought it up. He could see it on her face and almost regretted the fourth beer, off his game.

“It’s not something you can help with.” The time for denying he was working with The Flash was long over. He wondered how she figured it out. The bank job, most likely.

“Long con?”

“Not a con.” She was going to destroy him this round, dammit. He never should’ve taught her to cheat so well.

“So if you’re helping him for real… the stakes must be high.”

He curled his lip at the cards on the table. Decimated. “How many rounds did you have that queen tucked away?”

“Four. Don’t avoid my questions.”

“It’s not anything you’re thinking, Lise. It’s more… personal.” He sipped his beer, avoiding her gaze.

“You don’t do personal.”

He tapped his fingers to his knee. Tomorrow he was going to spend the day with Barry—no fever. No necessary barrier of urgency and frank desire to make it simple. He’d have to _ask_ for things, things he actually wanted.

He missed it not being personal.

“You know that soft spot you’ve got for Cisco?” he drawled eventually, picking up the new hand she’d dealt him.

“Mhmm?”

“I’ve got the same kind for… _him_.”

She let out a little laugh, “I’m sure it’s not the _exact_ same ki—”

“It is.” He glared resolutely at his cards, not playing any yet. If he couldn’t tell her, who the hell could he tell?

“Oh. Well,” she responded eloquently, tapping her lip after a moment. “Then I suppose I can hardly blame you. Is he cute? Or at least a good kisser? Or haven’t you had the honor?”

Some tension left his shoulders but it didn’t make this any easier. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh my _goodness_ you’ve kissed The Flash! Lenny— _dish!_ ”

“He’s not single.” It was so much easier to say than ‘he doesn’t want me’.

She dropped into a scowl. “Men are all dogs, even the heroes. _Especially_ the heroes. I’m breaking out the vodka.”

“He’s not cheating on her.”

She stopped halfway out of her chair. “Well now I’m just confused. What’s going on?”

“I don’t wanna get into it.” And most of it wasn’t his to tell, really. “But I can’t have him.”

“Then cut this thread.”

“Can’t do that either.” He tilted his head. It was almost funny, and he was almost back to his normal self.

“Lenny…”

“At risk of sounding like a broken record…” He place his cards on the table, two pairs.

“Drop it?”

“Drop it.”

 

[ … ]

 

“And you’re sure you’re okay with—”

“Anything, Barry. Whatever you feel, do, any of it. I support you, and I just want you to _live_ and not be cursed anymore.”

She had her arms around his waist, leaned up to kiss him and Barry smiled at her, feeling warm. It was amazing how _safe_ she could make him feel. He was the Flash and yet she was safety.

“So long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

“Then I’m off.” He disentangled himself from her, lamenting a little.

“Not to a motel again, right?”

“No, it’s a little townhouse. Pretty sure it’s just a place for criminal activity, but…” He shrugged. One problem at a time, really. He could deal with the Rogues and anything they cooked up when this mess was in the rearview mirror.

“Home away from home.”

He snorted, “I’ll be sure to get him a ‘live laugh love’ decal for the wall.”

She swatted his arm and he grinned before speeding off. If he were honest, he was stalling a little bit. It was one thing to go track down Leonard when all of his thoughts were subsumed in heat and sex and washed in a chemical hormone bath of ‘trust’ and ‘happy’. It was entirely another to walk into this with his eyes wide open.

Was this what Leonard felt like for each of their encounters?

He pushed that thought from his mind, rapping his knuckles on the door of the place he’d been only 33 hours ago. Leonard answered it a moment later, face grim. He didn’t comment on how long Barry took to show up after he’d texted, just held it open. Barry entered without a word.

They stared at each other. Barry coughed.

“This is a lot more awkward when I’m not high.”

“What a surprise.” Leonard rolled his eyes. “Any chance this is gonna work?”

He seemed to ask that every time. Barry considered it, sighing a little. “Maybe? I think it’s got a better chance than most things we’ve tried, or else I wouldn’t bother. The idea that it might have to be _real_ and not just the fever…”

Leonard nodded, glancing to the side. “That’s fair. And the following my orders bit?”

He shook his head. “It’s about giving you what you want.”

“Or what you _think_ I want?”

Barry winced. He’d walked into that one, a few times now really. It didn’t help that Leonard was standing right next to the spot where Barry had gotten down on his knees for him the last time they were here. Not that any surface in the room was really free of embarrassing memories. That poor couch. He flushed, glancing back at the other man.

It had been so much easier to articulate the other night, begging Leonard to be selfish with him. It really had seemed as simple as that, as obvious as anything that of course he was trying to kiss the man and to blow him and to do a million other things because he could tell Snart wanted it.

“How different is that, really?”

Leonard’s eyes shot to his, harder now. Great. “You might be surprised.”

Double great. Barry sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Then… tell me.”

“And if there’re things about me I’m not keen on you knowing?”

“Keen on—you’re kidding, right?” Barry actually laughed, a little pissed off despite himself. “You literally forced me to _rob a bank_ , Snart. I’ve had your— _you_ inside of me. And I’m going to again soon so just—do we really need to get hung up on how weird your kinks are?”

Leonard opened his mouth and closed it, nodded. “ _Fine_ ,” was eventually ground out. “But I hope you weren’t expecting to get this over with in the next hour then. If we’re doing what I want, exerting the energy on fucking you isn’t currently high on the list.”

God Snart had his back up today. Barry made a conscious effort to de-escalate. “Wasn’t planning on it.” They were silent for a beat. “So then… what _do_ you wanna do?”

 

[ … ]

 

He really wasn’t expecting Leonard’s first suggestion for the day to be routine maintenance on some of the cars he kept out back. Not that he was complaining, but it was far outside of what he’d guess the other man would want.

Which… might have been the issue. He had to keep sight of that, that this was supposed to be about him submitting to whatever requests Leonard actually made and not whatever ones he dreamed up inside his head. Still, he didn’t see how occasionally handing the man a wrench or getting him a beer was really going to fix anything.

It was also boring as hell. Leonard hadn’t wanted him to just use his speed and do all the work for him, and Barry already knew enough about engines despite having no desire to work on them, so there was little to be learned and little to do except watch Leonard work. The man wasn’t exactly making a lot of conversation, currently on a rolling dolly under a jacked up muscle car—a Continental and Leonard really did have a sense of humor, didn’t he, using a retired police car for heists—to get at the muffler to replace it. There was grease on his jeans, poking out from under the vehicle, and Barry was sitting down next to the car, watching, trying to enjoy the gentle breeze if he couldn’t make himself useful.

He heard a grunt. “C’mere for a sec.”

Barry’s eyebrows went up and he leaned under the undercarriage. “There?”

“Your outfit will survive.”

Barry scoffed and started to squish himself under the vehicle alongside Leonard. There was plenty of head clearance, just not enough space to actually crawl.

“That’s far enough, just get a hand on this so it doesn’t fall on me when I finish loosening these bolts.”

Barry did, stretching forward and leaning over Leonard to get a hand on it until Leonard finished the last bit of loosening and got one hand on it as well, helping shift it into Barry’s hand. He resolutely didn’t think about how far over Leonard’s body he had leaned, how close his face was to Leonard’s waist, hips—

“Just toss it to the side.”

Barry snorted, “right.”

He got himself out from under the car and Leonard followed long enough to grab the new piece, sliding back along his dolly with it.

“Need a hand holding it in place?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

Barry almost regretted offering. He certainly regretted whatever possessed him to go back in long-wise again instead of standing and moving to the side of the car for a better angle that wouldn’t have him so close to the other man.

This was what he was here for, he reminded himself. Making Leonard happy. Helping him with things. And, even if the man didn’t want to talk about it—sex. Who was Barry to judge if that sex came with decidedly more engine oil and grease than he was expecting.

“This really would go faster—”

“Some of us like to do things without superpowers, Barry.”

Leonard hadn’t even looked at him this entire time. He was refusing to feel put out about that as well. Instead he just shifted slightly, reminding Leonard that his thigh had found its way between both of his, warm where he brushed it against the other man.

“You can let go now.”

Barry tensed for a second then sighed, testing letting go of the piece. “So far so good?”

“Yep. Don’t hit your head on the way out.”

“You know I could…”

Finally, a look. Leonard arched his eyebrow at Barry, tilting his head up. “What is it this time?”

Barry felt himself flush. How the hell did he just _say_ those things when he was high? He couldn’t even get the words out of his mouth now as a suggestion.

“Barry?”

It would be so much easier if he could just slot himself fully between Leonard’s thighs, lean down and put his mouth over the denim and give this to him. Let him keep working while Barry worked at him instead, holding his hips down while Leonard swore and thrusted up into his mouth.

He cleared his throat, shaking off the mental image, finding words. “We’re supposed to be… I want to do this right, and obviously I mean—I _don’t_ know what you’re into so just—if you want me to take initiative I can, while you’re down here I could…” He was getting no help here, apparently. “…get you off?”

It shouldn’t have come out like a question but there it was, voice rising at the end.

“Barry, exactly what part of car maintenance do you think makes me want a blowjob?”

Well, when he put it like _that_ … Barry hung his head between his shoulders, wishing there was a way to scoot backward out from under the car with some shred of his dignity intact.

Leonard resumed rebolting the muffler on with his ratchet, the click-whir of it as much of an answer as anything. “At least I know the curse isn’t taking effect if _that’s_ your attempt at seduction.”

“I hate you so much right now,” Barry mumbled, finally scooting back.

“Dug that grave yourself.”

At least he sounded like he was more entertained and less mortified than Barry felt. He sat outside the car, glaring down the driveway at nothing until Leonard was done. He didn’t look at the other man when he finally resurfaced from under the vehicle. He was just in a t-shirt and it was different to see his bare arms, the faint lines of scarring on his bicep and the similarly faded ink Barry wouldn’t have guessed he’d have, except that he’d seen it the other night.

“Y’know, Barry, if that curse starts addling up your brain, today becomes pointless.”

He glared sharply at the other man. “Yeah, I know.”

“Think you’ll be able to tell if that starts to happen?”

Barry thrust out his jaw, caught between humiliation and frustration. “Yeah.” He landed on eventually. “I know when I start to lose it.”

“Better question—would you actually tell _me_ once you’re caught up?”

“I’m not a—” he grit his teeth and took a breath. “I’m not helpless. There’s no point when I’ve been fevered where I wouldn’t have been able to tell I was. I stop _caring_ that I am, or about anything, but it’s not like I don’t know, or wouldn’t let you know, since I know you’d want that information.”

Beside him, Leonard nodded decisively and stood up, voice cold and controlled. “Good. Don’t offer that again.”

Barry blinked incredulously then scrambled to his feet, following the other man in the back door through the kitchen. “Hey— _hey_! Look I’m just trying to do what I came here to do to—”

Leonard finally stopped and turned to give him a derisive look, fingers curling. “We already know that blowjobs won’t work—”

“I’m not here to try new things—I’m here to give you what you want when I’m not high—”

“I _told_ you not to make assumptions about what I want—”

“Well you can correct me if I’m wrong I’m pretty sure me sitting around doing nothing while you work on cars isn’t exactly an a-list fantasy from your highlights reel!”

“Are you _angry_ , Barry?” Leonard said it snidely, coldly, moving forward into Barry’s space and he inhaled, not stepping back. “Pissed at this precarious situation and how uncomfortable it feels when you don’t have any hormones to hide behind?”

Barry made a noise in his throat somewhere between a _tch_ and a swallow, helpless to know how to respond. Leonard pressed his advantage. He stepped forward and got a hand on Barry’s chest, forcing him to step back. He did, breathing heavy by the time his back hit the fridge.

“Did you think we’d lay in bed all day and I would make this easy on you, somehow? Tie you up and give you a script to follow?” He moved right up against Barry, got his lips close to his ear, voice low. “Did you hope I’d give you some laundry list of debauchery you could hate me for after it all failed anyway?”

“I…” Barry pulled in a stuttered breath. Leonard kissed his jaw, trailed his lips down to his neck. This was so different when it wasn’t all dulled in a haze that made remembering feel more like an urgent, embarrassing dream. This was so _immediate_ , the feel of his lips. His hand drifted up to Barry’s face, thumb against his mouth, pressing just inside, pulling his teeth down. He swallowed, massaging it with his tongue; it tasted like metal. Leonard pulled it back, lips grazing his cheek.

“Still sober?”

He almost wheezed out a laugh. “Yeah. Still me.”

The man stepped back and rolled his shoulders, looking completely unaffected. “Good to know. I’m going to wash up. Why don’t you start lunch?”

Barry was left with his jaw hanging while Leonard turned on his heel and left the room.

 

[ … ]

 

“Do you live here?”

Leonard shot him a flat look around the sandwich he was eating. Barry had already finished three.

“I just—with the cars, and the full fridge?”

“Mm,” he nodded, sipped some water. “I stay here. Rogues use it to lay low, ‘n we all move around a lot. It’s stocked up because I’ve been using it since this,” he waved between them, “started.”

“If anyone can use it, does that mean one of them could just… wander in?”

“Mick ‘n Lisa’re the only ones with access, and neither of them are likely to.”

Barry tried to decide how that made him feel. He finished his fourth sandwich and washed it down with some water. “So… what happens after this?”

“Hockey game’s on this afternoon.”

He snorted, then stopped. “Wait… you’re serious? You know we actually need to have sex at some point today.”

Leonard rolled his eyes in an overly dramatic, droll sort of way. “I’m aware.”

Barry wanted to shake his head at him. “Look—I get it. This is weird. You don’t want to make me do—whatever. But you don’t have to hold back, okay?”

“What is it exactly that you think I want, Barry?” He’s eyes narrowed, confident when Barry couldn’t find a way to answer. “You really are full of yourself, aren’t you?”

He tensed, meeting Leonard’s blue eyes. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” he drawled, nasal, leaning back and drummed his fingers against the table. “You’re young, handsome. _Eager_ , when you’re under the influence. I’m attracted to you. But being attracted to you doesn’t make me want to rape you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Barry sat up sharply, heart already hammering in his chest from hearing Leonard admit it out loud but the implication stopped him short. “I didn’t mean—it’s consensual, Leonard. Whatever we do today it’s—I know you don’t want it this way. But if you wanted it at all, then maybe we can start with whatever way you would want it.”

“That kiss…”

It felt like an accusation and Barry tensed even further, straining. “Yeah?”

“… nothing.”

He nodded, then shook his head, unable to accept the out.

“No, it’s… you’re right.” He sat back and stared resolutely at the fridge door, thinking about Iris and her watery smile trying to assure him it was okay. “It’s not just you who feels an attraction, Leonard. I don’t know when it started but I can’t blame it on the curse. I know it doesn’t change any of this but…it’s the truth. So whatever you ask me for it’s not like I won’t enjoy it too, okay?”

There was silence and after a moment, Barry sighed, trying to get his heartbeat back under control, the tightness in his chest. He finally looked at Leonard, at the intense gaze being sent his way.

“Look just… give me something here. Because if not I might just start stripping in your kitchen trying to figure out what you could be into and that’s just gonna be counterproductive.”

Leonard opened his mouth, then closed it and tilted his head. He kept drumming his fingers against the table and Barry waited him out. His own patience was ready to snap but finally, his fingers stopped and he let out a small sigh.

“Whatever we do today—the details aren’t for your whiteboard. I’d prefer if you don’t discuss them with _anyone_ , beyond what’s necessary in the abstract for this curse.”

“Right, okay.”

“Your word, Barry.”

He sat up straighter. “I promise.”

“’N whatever your thoughts are about me afterward, keep those to yourself too.”

Barry swallowed and nodded and promised that too.

“And if you start to get fevered, or start to get too… _uncomfortable_ —you better promise to tap out and let me know.”

He nodded. “I will, Leonard. If I start to freak out or—anything. I’ll tell you if doesn’t feel good. Just… don’t keep me guessing at what you want from me here.”

“We’re still not gonna jump right into sex.”

“Sure.”

“In that case…” Leonard appraised him for a long minute. Finally, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “You said something about stripping in my kitchen?”

Barry actually flushed a little, finding it suddenly hard to meet the other man’s gaze again. Was he joking?

“That alright?”

Not joking. This was happening, just like that. Barry started working on his buttons. “Yeah I—just, after all that secrecy and thoughts to myself… just promise I’m not gonna end up in a gimp suit by the end of the day?”

Leonard actually laughed. “No latex, no whips and chains. If you were hoping for some, I fear you’ll be disappointed.”

Barry felt himself smile and stood up to peel off his undershirt. “No problem here.” He started in on his pants, slipping out of his shoes. It wasn’t the sexiest way to undress but Leonard hadn’t asked for a striptease or lapdance either. Even so, he hesitated at his underwear, glancing at the other man. It wasn’t like the other man hadn’t seen it…multiple times…on display.

“Follow me.” Leonard stood up and Barry felt intensely relieved.

They went to the bedroom. Barry spared a thought for whether he’d changed the sheets, or whether he even slept there. The bed looked rumpled and it was impossible to tell. He was about to lay down, wondering if Leonard would want a massage or something else, but the man was rummaging for something in the…closet. He pulled out a scrap of fabric.

“Put this on.”

Barry took it and unfurled it and he knew his eyebrows were raking high up into his hairline. He tried to school his expression but he felt silly—how could he not—holding up the Keystone Combines jersey. It was an older one too, he recognized it from the few hockey games he’d caught. He glanced at Leonard and the man’s tense, resolute, firing-squad stiff expression.

Barry kept his comments to himself and put on the jersey. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leonard visibly relax and took that to be a good sign, at least. There was still a mutual embarrassment palpable in the air, Barry at a complete loss for words, but the other man took pity.

“You’re… taller than anyone I’ve ever seen in it before.”

He had to laugh, looking down at where the jersey cut high on his thighs. “You don’t say.” He thought about it for a second, a flash of something tight in his stomach at the thought of some woman in this, short and cute and giggling for Leonard. Because he mostly dated women, right? His files had never mentioned any ex-boyfriends, only ex-girlfriends.

“Feel free to let your underwear join the rest of your clothes.”

“Right.” Barry swallowed, sliding them down his legs. It was a little thrilling in its own way, the near nakedness, the way he thought a person might feel in lingerie. He wondered if this was how Iris felt in lingerie, then shoved that thought aside fast, standing back up properly. The jersey really _did_ feel short, but Leonard didn’t stay and ogle him. He was already walking past, toward the hall.

“Like I said, game’s on this afternoon.”

Barry let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, following him back out to the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

“Sure.”

Barry watched him start coffee then head over to the couch. He gave no clear direction but there was space next to him for Barry to join him, his arm slung out over the back of the couch. Barry took it, and Leonard turned on the pre-game.

After that, for a while, they just… existed. Barry relaxed into the other man’s side, got up to pour them coffee, got up again to track down a snack for himself, to go wash up and catch a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror in the ridiculous jersey, trying to decide if Leonard Snart had a hockey fetish or just a thing for seeing people in his clothes. If that was it, then it wasn’t so weird as all that, and Barry always loved it when Iris came down to breakfast in one of Barry’s own sweaters.

He sighed and wished he could separate thinking about Iris from thinking about Leonard. Could stop thinking now, suddenly, about Iris in this jersey, how much longer it would be on her, how the color would contrast nice against her skin and how she would look so much better in it, hair askew and smiling. She’d beckon him forward, looking cheeky, and lean back into Leonard behind her, his hands slipping up the sides of this jersey, teasing at pulling it up—

Barry splashed some water on his face and dried it, exiting the bathroom before he could accidentally make himself hard with stray thoughts. He slotted himself back into Leonard’s side, then decided he really didn’t care about the game—the Combines were losing horribly—and rearranged himself so that he was laying down with his head on Leonard’s lap, staring up at him.

After a moment of looking down at him with wry amusement, Leonard dropped his arm onto Barry’s torso, casually resting it there, quiet contact, refocusing on the game.

It was that gesture—the easy, simple point of contact—that made it click.

It wasn’t a hockey fetish. Or a car fetish. Or a power move getting Barry into his clothes. It wasn’t anything like any of those in the slightest. No, it was… companionship. Just like a day at home with Iris. Just someone to hold and cuddle up to and feed lunch to, to feel warm and cozy nestled his in clothes and slotted to his side for a few hours. Just… someone.

The thought had him blinking hard. He felt it in his chest, his gut, the intense loneliness that pervaded the day. Barry almost wanted to distract them both with sex after that thought. Anything to avoid thinking about the solitary life of Leonard Snart. No wonder he didn’t want Barry to comment on it—any of it. Or for anyone to know. He was letting Barry in to a vulnerability, one that screamed like a neon sign.

“You’re tense,” Leonard commented without moving his arm or looking down. Barry didn’t even try to deny it, though he forced himself to relax.

“Do you… go by Leonard? Or Lenny? Your sister calls you that, but you looked ready to stab me the one time I—”

He snorted, glancing down. “Horribly blew your terrible cover? I hope you don’t think my father wasn’t on to you. He didn’t know what, but he knew you were up to something.”

“So… not Lenny?”

“You called me that during sex a few times.”

Barry blinked. Had he? That was embarrassing. “Is that…”

“It’s fine, Barry. Just don’t wear it out. I hope you know not to do it where prying ears can hear.”

“Got it. Just Leonard.”

“Why are you so interested in my name all the sudden?”

He shrugged, looking up the man. “Calling you your last name got old once we started sleeping together.”

“I’ve known Mick since I was fourteen and he stills calls me Snart most days.”

He rolled his eyes, sitting up and stretching. “I just wanted to make sure I was calling you the right thing—you know how many derivatives there are for Leonard?”

“Leonard,” Leonard said, counting on his fingers, “Lenny, Len… Leo.”

“And Leon.”

“Ah. Right. No one’s ever called me Leon. I go by Len, or did for a while, if you feel the need to use a nickname.”

“Leonard, Lenny, Len.”

“Are you always like this when you get bored?”

Barry laughed. “Well. Caffeine and speedsters don’t mix well and I’ve always got energy to burn. Not to mention the Combines aren’t exactly doing so hot.”

Leonard— _Len_ —glared at the screen for a second, muting it. “Bad season.”

Barry shifted again, leaning into Len’s side. “I’m antsy.”

“So talk.”

“What’d you want me to talk about?”

Leonard looked down at him, arching an eyebrow. “Really leaning into that, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. Part of him wanted to remind Leonard that he was here for sex and keyed up for it, to suggest they might both feel better if they got it out of the way. But it felt cruel now to force it. It always was cruel, really. “I’m not used to … monologuing. Unless you really wanna hear about chemistry for an hour.”

“I’ll pass… why don’t you tell me about how you became the Flash?”

“Really?”

“People who go into a coma don’t normally wake up with superpowers.”

He sighed, leaning back into Leonard’s space. It wasn’t much of a tale to recount but he did anyway. Leonard had good questions about the lab, about what it felt like, about Cisco and Caitlin, ones that brought back memories that made Barry laugh. They were facing each other, the other man leaning into the corner of the couch, more captivated by Barry than hockey.

“…and then you know what happened next. You came in and made my life miserable and the whole city heard about it.”

“So I did. You also got me arrested.”

Barry scrunched his face up. “Yeah but you _kinda_ had it coming. Caitlin was strapped to a bomb.”

Leonard moved a hand to the neckline of the jersey, just idly running his fingers along it where it connected to his collarbone. “I recall. Were you there in the precinct, after?”

“Yeah,” Barry’s breath caught when Leonard’s thumb brushed the skin just below his neck. _Finally._ He leaned further into Leonard’s space. “I watched them walk you in, you went right past me. Except you weren’t even in custody for twenty-four hours.”

“Contingency plans.”

Barry huffed, then took it upon himself to move into Leonard’s space. The man’s legs were stretched out in front of him, feet on the coffee table, and it was nothing to move forward and swing a thigh over his legs, straddling him. And for the first time in over an hour, Barry was suddenly conscious again of his near-nudity, of his naked thighs connected to the denim of Leonard’s under him.

“If I recall correctly, those plans led you to kidnap Cisco.”

Leonard tilted his head, staring up at Barry. His hands carefully found their way to Barry’s thighs and he pressed his own to the sides of Leonard’s neck, wrapping him in closer.

“Well,” Leonard’s voice was quieter. “It worked out in my favor didn’t it?”

“Hey Leonard?”

“Mm?”

“Let’s stop talking.”

Barry leaned forward and bridged the gap, kissing Leonard gently. He inhaled and kissed Barry back, just that brush of lips together, of skin together. And it was a lot, suddenly—more intense than he would’ve expected. It hit him at once, the realization that he was kissing Leonard, that Leonard was kissing him, that he _still_ felt a nagging worry in the back of his head about Iris but even so he could enjoy this. Could want it.

And it was good, and soft, and Leonard’s lips were chapped and Barry could feel the light graze of his facial hair and there were details he knew but had never examined, not even on the rooftop, but here they were.

His heart was going to beat out of his chest. At least Leonard’s was beating just as fast under where his palm had drifted down. He felt fingers drift against the edges of the jersey and pulled in air, kissed Leonard deeper. He rocked his hips just a little, settled a little more into the man’s lap, careful of all his own sensitive bits of flesh against the denim. Fingers trailed up under the jersey, along his hip and he moved back to pull it over his head.

“Not yet.”

He stalled, keeping it on. “You really do have a hockey fetish don’t you?” He was _mostly_ teasing.

Leonard’s hands slid up his sides, under the jersey and against his skin, almost exposing him. “You look good.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment he’d ever heard from the man. Hell, it _was_ a compliment. Barry wasn’t even sure how to respond at first, kissing Leonard instead. “I’ll take your word for it,” he mumbled, too belatedly but it came out eventually.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, hm?”

“Can I—”

“Don’t even think about flashing us there.”

It was easier, again. Embarrassing to stand up again in the scrap of fabric that barely covered him, but he was laughing at least. And they were finally going to have sex, so if nothing else, the oddness of the day would soon be behind him.

But it had his stomach swooping to get turned around in Leonard’s arms and kissed deeply once they made it to the bedroom. He caught up quick, kissing back, getting his hands on the other man too, around him and up the back of his head to hold it there when he moved to kiss Barry’s neck. His faint stubble tickled and Barry titled his head, almost laughing, sighing it out. There was a hand sliding up the back of his thigh, over his ass, massaging it and he rocked himself against Leonard, slotting their bodies in line even as they stepped back together.

His legs hit the side of the bed and Leonard tipped him into it. He was so used to being on the other side of that equation, the one maneuvering his partner. But he obliged when Leonard told him to move up the bed, to move back. Normally by this time he was ready to beg, spread out and daring Leonard to look at this body, craving the other man’s attention. As it was, he swallowed hard, capturing Leonard’s lips again, tense now that the man was on top of him between his legs, almost wishing the fever would overtake him.

This was really happening.

“Alright, Barry?” it was murmured softly and Barry bit back the urge to laugh, knowing it would be bitter.

“Yeah. Just wrapping my head around this. Around how—” he shuddered, Leonard’s hand sliding up his torso but stilling “—turned on I feel right now.”

And fuck but he was turned on, or at least his body was, way ahead of the stewing in his head. He certainly couldn’t hide it, the jersey hiked up around his middle, leaving nothing to the imagination. Leonard leaned back a little, catching his eyes.

“That mean you don’t want to get off?”

Barry’s throat constricted. “Definitely doesn’t mean that.” He _very_ much wanted to get off, the sooner the better. The more he could distract himself in sensation, the easier all of this would be. He could sort out the rest later.

With a hum, Leonard leaned down again and kissed him. Barry stretched his body out more under him, moved into the hands that were on his torso and moving again. He couldn’t remember a time when Leonard had touched him half so much as this under the fever, and took it as permission. His own were under Leonard’s shirt, sliding along the skin there.

He broke off to gasp.

“Sensitive?” Leonard had one of Barry’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently.

“Mm-hmm,” Barry fought and lost against gasping again, tilting his head back with it. “All of me is. Not the curse—powers. My nipples are definitely on that list.”

“Hmm.” It sounded pleased and he didn’t stop teasing, just leaned forward and kissed Barry’s neck. And then sucked it and that—

Barry _moaned_ , arching up into his hands. He’d almost forgotten Leonard already knew so many of his sensitive spots and that one on his neck—he was going to go insane. Leonard kept working him over, kissing his neck in all the right places, teasing his nipples with both hands and he was still in the jersey rucked up to his armpits, feeling uniquely on display because of it and it was so _good_ and so hot and—

He tightened his fingers against Leonard’s back, momentarily refocusing. He wasn’t fevered. This was still him. He was hot, and turned on, and that was so much _like_ being in that cloud, was part of it, but this was different. He could pull away at any moment, could imagine a world in which he might want to. It was almost too much again, confusion muddying up his brain—  

And then Leonard’s mouth captured his nipple and Barry swore, all thought flying out of his head.

“Fuck, Leonard that’s— _ahhh_ …”

He switched to the other nipple, hands moving down to Barry’s thighs, spreading them a little. He pulled in a shaky breath at that, going willingly.

“At least take off your shirt.”

That earned him a laugh at least, and the other man finally pulled back and pulled his tee above his head. He was hard in his jeans and Barry reached for his belt.

“Not yet,” he caught Barry’s wrist, pressed a kiss to the inside, then pressed it to the mattress even as he shifted and kissed Barry’s torso before moving down. And down.

“Oh god.”

Leonard was grazing his not-quite stubble along the inside of Barry’s thigh. His hand was trailing through the curls right at the base of his cock. It throbbed, aching for attention, thick and hard and suddenly the only thing that mattered was that Leonard was about to touch him, about to—

“This alright?”

“ _Fuck_. Yeah—yeah it’s—honestly not gonna take long if you do that.” He couldn’t believe that Leonard even wanted to but—

“No issue here.” One second the man was chuckling and the next he was—god that was his tongue. He pressed it broadly in a long swipe from Barry’s balls to the tip of his cock and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“ _Jesus_ , Leonard.”

He wrapped his mouth around the tip instead of answering. Barry couldn’t help from groaning. Leonard kept teasing him, tongue swirling around the tip in circles even as his hand worked him. He couldn’t help that his hands landed on Leonard’s shoulders, slid gently over his razed hair, skimming and kinetic. He had to move but he had to keep his hips still and his hands were his best compromise, trying not to embarrass himself by ending this quick even by his standards.

Leonard’s free hand reached up to his nipples again and Barry swore. He snapped one of his arms up to his mouth to bite into his wrist, trying to keep himself quiet. But Leonard’s mouth was hot and skilled—god he was skilled, he knew exactly what he was doing and Barry almost laughed hysterically realizing it, cock throbbing against the back of his throat and the tightness of it—and it was all Barry could do to hold on. He clenched the sheets with his other hand now, breathing shallow.

“I’m close—”

Leonard hummed around him, taking him deeper and he groaned, gave up trying to stifle the sound, both hands clenching the sheets, one behind his head as he fought not to arch into it. It was building, the slick heat suffused around his cock and every muscle starting to tighten.

“Almost—just a little— _ah_ —”

His voice was hitched, higher, but Leonard’s hand sped up, warm and fast and strong and sure (and big, his hand was so big, so foreign, so _good_ ) and Barry was right there, tension coiling, cresting—

The ringtone jarred them both. Barry let out a strangled, frustrated noise in a rush, eyes snapping open. Leonard moved off his cock and he whined, arching up a little to chase the sensation.

“There’s no way—you’re not _seriously_ about to answer that—”

He was fishing it out of his pocket with one hand, still stroking him with the other and Barry could honestly kill him right now. He frowned at the screen.

“It’s Cisco.”

“ _Shit_ —could be—”

Leonard put the phone to his ear. “Unless the city’s about to explode Cisco—we’re _kind of_ in the middle of something.”

He punctuated the statement by swirling his palm around the tip of Barry’s cock and he bit hard into his hand, falling back against the mattress. He knew it—Leonard was a kinky fucker somewhere underneath that cool exterior. Just sliding his thumb around the head, teasing the glans. Barry was going to combust.

But then his hand stopped. “What about her?”

Barry could cry. He really didn’t want to go save the city. He needed to cum. Leonard’s eyes were like lasers on him.

“It’s about the witch—he wants me to put you on.”

“I hate everything right now—put him on speaker.”

Leonard did, other hand sliding away from his body even as Barry caught his breath and tried to focus.

“Hey B, sorry to interrupt haha,” even Cisco’s voice was pitched with awkward nerves, “it’s just that we’ve uh, got some company coming.”

“Wha—” Barry cleared his throat, flushing at how low and raspy it was, “you mean Van Trost?”

“She showed up at the precinct and flat out told Joe her and Kat wanted to talk to The Flash and whoever else was involved in the curse now. Guess she figured out Joe could make that happen.”

“When? _Now_?”

“Apparently she’s been in Peru all week and she’s about to head to Europe tomorrow morning so yeah dude, now. She already knows like half of us who’re involved so Joe told her to meet him at STAR Labs.”

Barry swore, sitting up. So much for... any of this. “We’ll be there in five.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something about this chapter that I'm genuinely unsatisfied about, but I can't put my finger on what so i'm not gonna delay posting to fix it ^^; i think it's about the tone and probably imagery, how things build and the pace of things? that's murky stuff though and not easy to adjust if i'm not 100% sure where the issue lies, aaaand i'm more eager to get on to the next chapter.
> 
> Because honestly? I'm so excited for the next chapter. Plot twist impending. It's a little rare for the 'villain' to just turn themselves in so I doubt too many of you fully expected that last bit of the chapter to play out how it did, but it's something I'm stoked about for this fic. I mean, originally there was only gonna be one witch and she was gonna be a piece of work, but introducing Amara Van Trost and adding more complexity to her and Kat's motives has made this more of a joy to work on :3
> 
> Also thanks for all the amazing comments so far! I keep meaning to answer some of the ones I got on the last chapter because they've been super insightful, so I'll try to get to that ASAP. I love the thought you guys put into this story! I hope you continue to enjoy it :)
> 
> PS - I'm thinking it'll be a maximum of 16 chapters total? maybe less? depends on how many extra plot elements I add or if i feel like it's dragging too much and cut some material. somewhere between 100-120k words?


	9. Science and Magic

Len—like any sane human—hated the feeling of getting picked up and carted around while the city whirred by in a wormhole-like kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, slowed down and distorted and too wrong for any brain to process. Any brain except Barry’s, anyway. Or the other speedsters that were out there, but Len had yet to meet any of them, so his entire reference point was the man who’d felt the need to whisk him off his feet before he could protest, once their clothes were on and their hands were clean.

Not that Len’s hands were ever truly clean.

He pushed that thought aside, refocusing. They’d arrived some minutes sooner, impatiently waiting for Van Trost. She’d just arrived in the atrium down on the main floor and they were waiting by the elevator, planning to take the conversation to a break room that apparently existed where they could sit and chat over tea, a request of hers.

She arrived with a ding of the elevator, cool smile in place, smart dress and heels with a handbag that drew his eyes. A moment later, his fingers, doing math in his head for the cost of her outfit. It cost three times that of what everyone else in the room was wearing combined. He wondered how hard it would be to lift something off a real-life witch, particularly that necklace. Something told him Van Trost wasn’t the person to try it on.

“Iris, such a pleasure to see you again. And detective West,” her smile for Joe was a little too warm and Len almost snorted. “Cisco.”

Her eyes landed on Caitlin, Barry, and Len. She focused on Caitlin first.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Oh! Um, I’m Caitlin Snow.” She extended her hand and shook Van Trost’s. “I’m a doctor; I work here.”

“Charmed. And Mr. Snart? Your reputation precedes you, but I’ll admit I didn’t expect to meet you here today.”

He arched an eyebrow. Apparently the recognition was mutual. “Always pleased to meet a fan.”

Iris and Barry both scowled at him and his smirk grew.

“And just why _are_ you here, Mrs. Van Trost?” Barry demanded, his more commanding ‘Flash’ type voice coming out. He was in the suit after all, a yellow blur into it as soon as they’d arrived, the rest of his clothes disappearing to some undisclosed location.

“To help. I truly thought that was obvious,” she made it sound scathing. “But I would appreciate some tea first, or champagne if you have it. I have a long flight tonight.”

“On a broomstick?” Len couldn’t help the jibe. She looked him over.

“What else? Humans haven’t invented any expedient flying devices for long distances yet, so a witch like me just has to make do. The maids are always so aghast they can’t sweep anything when I go abroad.”

His mouth worked, irritation flooding him at the lack of an immediate comeback. He saw Cisco trying to stifle his giggles and knew he wasn’t going to live that one down for a while. Even Iris’s eyes were sparkling with mirth when she suggested they head over to the break room. There was nothing for it but to follow.

They settled in, Len surprised there was an actual kitchen and sofas in this place, even if _had_ been a functional lab with hundreds of staff at one point in time. Cisco and Caitlin made coffee and tea. Barry didn’t take his eyes off Van Trost and sat when she did on the opposing couch, facing her. Len almost laughed, if only privately to himself. Van Trost was in the building for all of a minute and she was running the show, whether they’d admit it or not. Tea, couches, sitting when she did. Like a spider drawing flies into her web.

“Coffee?”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Len spared a cold smile for Caitlin, handing out mugs.

“Well?” Barry prompted, impatient. Iris settled next to him, Cisco on his other side, with Joe hovering protectively over his shoulder. Len leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed and watching. Caitlin curled herself into a chair.

“Let me make this clear before we begin, Mr. Allen. Yes—settle down, I know your name. It wasn’t all that hard. Between a visit from a detective who came to call asking about curses and the CCPD liaison he brought working here—a facility that you own, I gather—and that same detective… raised you? My PI got that right? And his daughter comes by my meeting with a curse—the Flash’s curse—clinging about her skin? And you and Iris are… dating? Do I have that all correct?”

Barry nodded tersely.

“I must say, very Hapsburg of you.”

“It’s not like that,” Barry defended like a reflex. Len actually snorted. _He_ wasn’t going to say it, but he was glad he wasn’t the only one who’d thought it. Joe glared at him and Len shrugged one shoulder, unapologetic.

Iris put a hand on Barry’s arm. “Don’t let her get under your skin, babe.”

“Oh I’m not judging,” Van Trost sipped her tea. “I appreciate a good scandal. But now that I’ve made my position clear—I trust you understand by me being here and my lack of interest in this knowledge of your name, your identity and family and connections, that I mean you no harm? And _yet_ —” she added before Barry could speak, voice getting colder “—I will not abide any harm to me and mine.”

“You and _yours_ stole from a museum and tried to kill me.”

“She’s young and rash, I’ll admit. But I don’t need to be here, and nor does she. We are extending you a _courtesy_ , and it will be repaid if you want our assistance in determining why and how this magic is still holding fast to you.”

Barry sighed out his nose. “ _Fine_. So long as your friend doesn’t hurt anyone else, I won’t do anything to her either. But if she does—”

“You have my word, Mr. Allen.”

He nodded. Len stood up straighter then, as a minute later a young woman walked in the door and— _this_? This was the formidable witch who’d put them all in this mess? Who’d cast a curse that could kill Barry and left him at the mercy of only people who had genuinely tried to off him?

She was barely more than a teen. She wasn’t entirely devoid of that baby-faced look all new adults had, but harder around the eyes and tense, back up like the world was out to get her and he’d seen that look enough times before. She was more of a kid than Barry, than any of them. Which might make a person sympathetic, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable knowing how much power she could wield that young.

Len’s eyes flicked to Barry. He seemed to see it too, eyebrows up as he stood to survey her standing in the doorway.

“You’re… Kat.”

She lifted her chin. “And you’re Barry.”

He nodded, taking off his cowl finally. Van Trost looked pleased with herself. “Come sit, dear.”

She did, on the edge of her seat and tense next to Van Trost. Len wondered if she was even old enough to buy liquor yet.

“So, Kat,” Iris sat forward. Her face was smiling but her voice was anything but cheerful. “Why don’t you explain this curse to us and why you think it’s okay to do what you did?”

“What _I_ did—I was just defending myself! I warned him not to come after me! Like three times!”

Len almost laughed, but Barry’s face was a mask of anger. On his other side, Cisco’s incredulous voice cut in, “while you were _stealing_! And just fyi, trying to resist arrest doesn’t make it okay to serve up curses with a side order of sexual assault.”

“A _what_?” Kat half-shouted, angry with pinched red circles in her cheeks, “I would _never_ —”

“You did!” Iris snapped back.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about! The curse didn’t say anything about _assault_! At least not _sexual_ assault.”

There was a beat. Len started to tense.

“Did you—did you not even _know_ what your curse was doing?” Iris’s voice carried surprise and suspicion in equal measures but Len had no doubt, not with the expression on that girl’s face. His stomach dropped. She had no idea.

 “I—” she looked at Van Trost, eyes wide and a little wet.

And fuck, if _the witch who cast the spell_ didn’t know—

“Tell us what’s happened.” Van Trost kept her voice smooth and even, but she wasn’t playing and coy like before when she’d arrived, warm like honey. If Len had to bet, she was shaken or pissed by the accusation, or both.

“You—she—” Barry shook his head. There was real confusion there. “The curse. It gives me a fever. This fever that makes me—how do you not know?”

“The fever, the burning… it doesn’t _hurt_ you?” Kat asked, face scrunched.

Len could only see Barry’s expression in profile, staring at his hands. “There’s no pain. It’s heat but not… that kind of burning. And the only thing that stops it is…” His eyes flicked to Len then down.

“I see,” Van Trost didn’t make him spell it out. “And this has happened more than the one time, I take it?”

“Every few days.”

“Arousal and sex.” She leaned back in her seat. “That does explain a lot.”

“It does?” Iris prompted. Her hand was on Barry’s arm still, leaning in tight and protective to his side.

“Kat and I were wondering how it was that the Flash survived this long _and_ still had the curse in place. Why it clings to Iris. Though it’s clear why it’s wrapped so heavily around Mr. Snart, like a blanket.” She nodded at Len and Kat’s eyes fell on him.

“ _Captain Cold_?”

He wasn’t even in the mood, even if she might be an _actual_ fan. “In the flesh,” he drawled, not moving off the wall.

“So wait—that means you’re the mortal enemy? We knew the Flash probably found one to give himself to, but if it involves—oh.” She flushed to the tips of her ears, eyes wide.

“You ladies care to share with the class how exactly you _accidentally_ cursed Barry into needing his enemy to fuck him to survive?” He rolled his head to the side, too annoyed to mince words. “Or better yet—how to fix that?”

“I—I don’t know. I didn’t mean—” her eyes started to well up with tears. Len assumed they were crocodile ones, at least to some extent, but she was appealing to Barry now so fake or real, he’d fall for them anyway. “This isn’t my _fault_. Give all that you are to your mortal enemy, else burn up inside throughout—you were supposed to bare your neck, not—not _that_!”

“Well this isn’t _my_ fault,” Barry shot back with a high note in his voice. Len cringed at the defensiveness.

“Actually, Mr. Allen,” Van Trost cut in, “it most likely is. Well, let me amend, calm down—” she fore-stayed what looked to be at least three arguments by raising a hand. “It’s the curse itself, and some mistakes Kat made in casting, but I have the lay of some of how this happened now. I have some questions, and hopefully that will make the rest of your predicament clear.”

“Please,” Joe said, wiping his forehead. “Would _someone_ explain already?”

“Kat and I figured out one piece, already. It’s a cycle, yes? Every few days it renews itself?”

“Every six about, yeah.”

She nodded. “We thought it might be something like that. The curse was laid invoking the energy of the moon, a terrible choice in casting, though it gives the caster a boost so the energy doesn’t come all from themselves. But any magic that calls upon the energy of the moon has the potential to create cycles. As the moon is cyclical, so too are any magics that invoke her.”

“You mean… if the curse had said burn up by tomorrow midday, my boy Barry here would be curse-free instead of in a cycle?” Cisco checked.

“Unless the caster was strong enough to create a daily cycle on the sun, woven into the fabric of the curse, it wouldn’t have the ability to repeat. Invoking the sun is much harder, though, and I doubt Kat has the power to do it yet. But you’re lucky—” she directed that to Barry “—because it’s clear you’ve only found a partial solution to the curse. Without a full solution, you would be dead if it weren’t able to twist itself into a cycle like it did. You found a loophole.”

She seemed almost pleased about that, like a lawyer might be. Len started to wonder if faeries and the fair folk stories had any truth to them. But Barry seemed less interested in the dynamics of magic. He sat back with a sigh and dragged a hand through his hair.

“Okay.” Barry dragged that same hand down over his face. “Okay, we already knew it’s a cycle. But why—if she really _didn’t_ mean to make me do anything more than bare my neck to an enemy—why am I _still_ in this situation?”

“I’m still working on that part,” Van Trost admitted. “Magic is… intuitive. It senses and responds to the world, to the caster’s Intent, to the recipient’s will. Magic is _felt_.”

“I didn’t _want_ to be at my enemy’s mercy,” Barry snarled, sitting forward again. How quickly he bared his teeth. Len pursed his lips.

“Don’t mistake me. It was no more your desire than Katherine’s. The Intent behind her magic was to have you… powerless?” She checked with Kat for a nod. “Intent is important in casting. But that is very nonspecific Intent, and nonspecificity is _dangerous_ in my line of work. It opened the curse up.”

“Sorry,” Kat whispered. Most of them ignored her.

“And you are… strong willed.” Van Trost hummed and tapped a red nail to her lips, staring at Barry. “You _are_ , aren’t you?” It was mostly to herself, musing. “That will make things harder.”

“What?”

“My curse,” Kat answered, and that was interesting, how forlorn her expression was, one step ahead of the rest of them. “It must be interacting with you—with your Will. You being strong willed means you’re not _really_ giving yourself fully to Captain Cold. That’s what the Priestess is getting at.”

“You made it so I _have_ to submit—it’s not like I’m faking it. I can’t even really fight it. It just… happens.”

Kat looked to Van Trost, who patted her knee soothingly, taking back over. “A strong Will is potent, and there are ways to bend without breaking. The curse is working with you, making so you don’t feel you can fake or fight this. It creates a desire to submit, I’m guessing?”

“You could… say that.”

That was an understatement. Len caught Iris’s eyes on him and glanced away, ignoring the flush on Barry’s cheeks.

“But you’re too stubborn to give yourself over genuinely, deeply, even with that magical incentive, the Intent of the curse bending you to give that power away. So the problem arises… You don’t recognize false submission within yourself. It’s always possible to give it truly, but with a Will like you must have, I suspect you have to deeply _mean_ it. Within the burning heat, without it—you have to give yourself wholly and without reservation.”

Len had a bad feeling about that. Something itching at his spine, coiling in his muscles.

Barry looked eager though, focused. “Okay we were kind of on the same track. So basically if I, er, try to fix this curse with Leonard _without_ being fevered, so that it’s not forcing me—”

Van Trost shook her head. “What is submission without the genuine _desire_ to submit? It’s a shackle. And you, I imagine, don’t view a shackle as giving yourself fully?”

Len watched Barry’s face. Around the eyes, the downcast look there, the disappointment. “Not… really.”

“Just biding your time until you can break free.”

He tasted a little bit of bile in his throat at her wording. Thankfully, Iris picked up the thread before anyone could think to glance his way.

“So what? You’re saying he needs to genuinely, deeply _want_ everything he’s doing with Snart? To want to sleep with him?”

Len felt himself tense even further, knuckles starting to go white. He knew there were eyes on him now, felt them burn looking through him, but he didn’t peel his away own gaze from Van Trost. Barry had said he was attracted to Len, had admitted it like pulling teeth in a way that had his heartbeat so hard it was almost painful in his chest.

If genuine desire was all it took, wouldn’t that first kiss have taken care of it?

“Yes… and no. If it were only about submission and Will alone, sex wouldn’t be the only solution, or _a_ solution at all. Because there is Intent, Will, and also _Interpretation_. Interpretation is the missing piece for this, though I worry…” She actually did look tense for a second, a tightness around her eyes. “May I ask, Barry—what made you know you had to sleep with Leonard Snart in order to survive?”

A little bit of the tension in him abated because Len had to snort. Iris flashed him an annoyed glance while Barry rolled his eyes to the ceiling and answered, “dreams. I don’t want to go into them but just—dreams. About mortal enemies. I know it sounds silly—”

“It’s perfectly natural. A dream will often reveal the true course of magic.”

Iris smirked at him and it was Len’s turn to shoot her a glare. She looked pretty smug.

“So what do my dreams mean then? Or where did it all go wrong?”

“Where indeed. You have no children, Mr. Allen?”

Barry actually laughed, “no. Definitely not. One day hopefully, but not yet.”

“Right.” Van Trost nodded. “I assumed as much. Parents often approach matters of giving all of themselves very differently. May I also ask… how many lovers have you had, aside from Mr. Snart?”

Len’s lips quirked up at everyone’s reaction to the question. Barry cringed and Iris perked up, looking at him. Cisco leaned away, looking awkward but invested anyway. Joe was staring at the roof. Caitlin sipped her coffee and managed to disappear even further into her chair, silent in all of this.

“That’s… relevant?”

“I believe it is.”

“Iris and two others. Or….” He actually started to count on his fingers and Len barely resisted the urge to comment how adorable that number was. He could multiply it a few times to get his own and Barry was waffling on counting between, “Six, I guess, if we’re counting oral sex. Or seven if I’m counting the handjob I got in high-school.”

“I _knew_ it!” Iris cackled, clapping her hands together.

“Do _not_ want to know,” Joe continued staring resolutely at the ceiling.

“Is there anything that sets the three apart from the rest?”

“I was in relationships with them? I mean,” he scratched the back of his head, long legs stretching out a bit, “I don’t really do ‘casual’?”

Van Trost’s eyes glittered. “I see that. And you and Iris—this is long-standing?”

Barry looked at Iris then, and his face immediately softened into something warm. “I’ve loved her ever since I knew what love was, yeah.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, placing a hand back on his arm. It was almost a little sickening, how easily they melted into each other like that, all warm smiles. Thankfully, Iris turned back to Van Trost. “But we’ve actually only been dating for a few months.”

“I…see. And you’d do anything for Iris?”

“Of course.” There was no hesitation there. Something about the question pulled at the string in the back of Len’s mind.

“So you have a deep, long-lasting love, but just consummated recently? Perhaps it’s a little all-consuming in the honeymoon phase?”

“You could say that,” Iris pulled her hair behind her ear. Len tried not to be endeared by the sight, momentarily distracted by the flush gracing her cheeks.

“What’re you driving at?” Joe asked, bringing them back down to reality. “How does Iris have anything to do with Barry sleeping with Snart?”

“She doesn’t, per se. But I can see why the curse clings to her now, and why everything here has gone so horribly off-kilter. It will be a lesson, I’m sure, about using magic on people with as strong a Will as The Flash, or as good a heart.”

Kat put her head in her hands, mumbling an apology through her fingers.

“I’m really… not following,” Barry said. Len noticed that he was more relaxed now than ever though, confused but intent and focused without the anger. He’d already forgiven both of the witches.

“Beyond your Will, who you are and perhaps your situation with Iris have affected your Interpretation of the curse—the way your soul is interacting with the magic.”

“My…soul? But I don’t even speak Latin? It was already affecting me before I could ‘interpret’ it.”

“Your brain and body don’t need to know the words to know their Intent. Magic relies on so much more than language. And this Interpretation of that Intent… You’ve made Kat’s curse into something far more powerful than it might otherwise be. Were she to curse you with this deliberately, she wouldn’t have had close to the power.”

Len glanced at the girl, still looking forlorn, almost curling in on herself. That didn’t bode well.

“Out with it, already,” Len finally spat, impatient, drawing himself off the wall. “What d’we need to do for him to be free of this ‘n for us to go our merry ways?”

Her dark eyes caught his and they looked sad, almost. Tired. “If I’m right, then it won’t be… easy, Mr. Snart. For any of you, I imagine. Mr. Allen, it’s clear you have a big heart but—and correct me if I’m wrong—you’re the hopeless romantic type?”

“Yeah,” he laughed a little, “okay. So?”

Len tensed further, fingers flexing. Barry still seemed relaxed, bumping his knee against Iris’s. And that creeping sensation up Len’s spine was still there, stronger again. His eyes narrowed.

“So Iris, and your other two lovers? Were special. Special in a way that others are not. Iris in particular is special, if you’ve loved her so long as you say you have. There are things you would do for her, would give to her, and not anyone else.”

Barry nodded, more serious, leaning forward. He looked so earnest, so intent on the words and Len couldn’t peel his eyes away, feeling like time had slowed as his brain was already there, pieces finally all clicked into place. A sick feeling was rising in his throat.

“And with her, with your lovers—your _loves_ —there are parts of yourself you reserve only for them, things that you do that are unique to those relationships and not others. A short list of things, maybe, but one that includes sex.”

“I—” There it was. Barry’s eyes were wide, the lightbulb started to illuminate. It was written all over his face, denial and dread. On Iris’s face too, suddenly sitting up ramrod straight, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed, just a slight shake to her head. “So the curse… so because sex is special to me—because I only—”

Van Trost sighed, and for the first time, she actually looked sorry. “Because _romantic love_ is special to you. Because you would do _anything_ for Iris, and no one else. Because the only people you do give yourself to—in a way that _you_ recognize as true submission, as truly giving your power and all that you are—are the people with whom you fall in love. And because one of the more meaningful ways that _you_ choose to show that is by sharing sex with those people, a gift of your deepest self. Because lust and sex are tied to love inside of you. And maybe, too, because your love—your lust—was so fresh with Iris that it muddied what might have otherwise been your Interpretation of the curse, had you not been so suffused with it when this curse was cast.”

“I—I don’t—”

Len’s heart was slamming against his ribcage. Breathing was getting difficult.

“You do. I’m sorry, Mr. A… Barry. I’m sorry. I don’t envy your position. Any of yours.” She looked at Iris, at Len. He couldn’t look away. It was worse than any trainwreck, and he would know. He almost missed the shouts of alarm and the grinding of metal. This was so much worse. “The sex allows you to survive, to make it a cycle, because it is a facsimile of a gift you give to those you love. But it will never break your curse. Only one thing can do that.”

Iris inhaled, wet and deep. Tears were streaming down her face. Barry looked like he’d been stabbed and gutted. Len was going to throw up.

“You have to fall in love—truly, genuinely in love—with your mortal enemy.”

 

[ … ]

 

Iris felt like she was in shock. It was hard to convince her limbs to move. No one spoke, no one even _breathed_ and the silence felt like it lasted forever; it couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds.

“I—I need some air.” Barry’s voice was totally shot and she acted on instinct, already telling him to wait—so did her dad and Snart at the exact same time, their voices just as desperate as her own and thank god it wasn’t just her but—but he was already gone.

“Oh. Well. That is quite the light show. Is there always that much lightning?”

Iris didn’t spare any attention for Amara. She needed—

“That’s my cue,” Snart made a beeline for the door. Iris tried to call him back but the line of his shoulders in that leather jacket were stiffer than she could ever remember seeing them and he didn’t turn. She almost moved to follow, halfway out of her seat but then sank back into it.

Goddammit this _sucked_. She clapped a hand over her mouth, the tears falling, a sob threatening to follow. Her dad was next to her in a heartbeat, hand smoothing over her back and telling her it was going to be okay. She pulled in air through her nose. She couldn’t do this. Not here, not now. Not with this audience.

She swallowed back the panic. She had to.

“Amara, wait,” her own voice was deep and raspy but Amara stalled from taking her leave, quirking an eyebrow and sitting back down.

“Iris.”

“I need more than that. That’s not an answer. I have—I have so many questions.”

“Do tell.”

Iris rattled in another breath and wiped her eyes, leaning forward out of the tempting comfort of her dad, of how easy it would be to just fall to pieces.

“How are you sure it’s that?”

“Do you believe I’m wrong?”

Iris was not in the mood for questions in response to questions. “That’s not what I asked.”

Amara was actually fighting a smile. Iris wanted to punch something. She really needed to take up kickboxing. “I ask because your intuition is strong, Iris. If you believe I’m wrong, there’s a chance I am. If you believe I’m correct… I can’t imagine I would be anything but.”

Her chest felt tight, hollowed out. The thought about Barry, about him as the Flash, about all the ways they fell in love with all the different masks they wore in and around all the different people in their lives. He was different with the people he loved. He loved people—all people—deeply, but it was special when he fell in love. He gave more than all of himself to it.

“You’re not wrong,” she rasped. Exhaustion started to settle into her bones. Amara wasn’t wrong.

The woman spread her hands as if in apology.

“I’m sorry,” Kat whispered. She looked frightened. She _had_ looked frightened for half that conversation. “I didn’t…”

“Didn’t mean to send him off to an enemy to get his throat slit?” Iris glared hard at her, a sluice of satisfaction cutting through her when the girl wilted under it. She was just a kid but she’d still cursed death upon Barry.

“I was _scared_! Have you ever had someone coming at you with superpowers?”

“Yeah, I have. I didn’t try to murder them.”

“I just wanted to get away! I knew a curse would stop him short—they always take a minute to take hold, wrapping a person up and I didn’t mean for this to happen, okay?”

As apologies went, Kat’s were weak. “Is there anything you can do—either of you?”

Amara shook her head. “At this juncture—not especially. There are little things that our magics can do for curses depending on their nature, at least to extend life in the most difficult cases, but your solution is already clear, if difficult.”

“I guess I just don’t… understand,” Iris sighed, pushing forward. “If it’s _love_ , then why is it so much like… lust?”

“It’s love, and submission, and heat. And to be clear, there’s no magic I know of that can _create_ real love. Only poor imitations. It’s likely close to a… desperate infatuation.”

“The love hormone,” Caitlin interrupted and Iris had honestly forgotten she was there and started at the sound to her right. She was sitting nestled in an oversized chair, looking a little owlish. “Oxytocin, that’s what it’s called: the love hormone. It spikes in his blood when he’s fevered. His body is trying to induce bonding and trust to make him feel like he’s in that honeymoon stage of love. Just… way too much, especially with the testosterone and other hormonal effects.”

“I suppose science has its uses,” Amara conceded with what was almost a smile. Iris frowned.

“What about other acts of love then, ones that aren’t about sex? Snart’s a thief—what if Barry steals for him?” She already knew the answer, but now she didn’t fully understand why that wouldn’t count.

“Is theft an act of love?” Amara titled her head. “That’s a very… philosophical question. It can be. So can sex. But sex can also be an act of lust, or power, or aggression, or desire, or acceptance. The same goes for theft, or any other action.”

“So only things that are exclusive to love could heal him?”

“It’s about his soul’s Interpretation of the act and what it means to him. Or what it meant when this cycle began. It might not only be sex. Or it might be that some sex acts get him partway there, and theft gets him partway there, and getting Mr. Snart roses would get him partway there. But what will be strongest is whatever he considers most closely to giving himself fully.”

“Right. That… makes sense, with some of what we tried. And what about…” she swallowed, heart suddenly pounding harder. “Does the solution involve loving only Snart?” Her dad reached out and held her hand and she tried and failed not to let some fresh tears slip. Amara looked crestfallen.

“Darling, no. Not so long as _Barry_ believes he can love you both.”

“And if he can’t fall for Snart?” her dad asked, a little gravel in his voice.

“Then the situation will continue until he can. Or unless sex becomes meaningless to him, but that seems unlikely. And with how wrapped tight around Mr. Snart the curse is, it also seems unlikely that the curse will be indefinite.”

“What if—if Snart doesn’t want to help Barry anymore? Can it transfer?”

She pursed her lips. “It _could_. I wouldn’t advise it at this point, starting from scratch.”

“’N he’ll know when he’s cured?” her dad looked dubious when Iris turned to glance at him. “I mean—if this curse does all this stuff with his head to make him—to put him in this mindset like he’s head over heels for Snart—that’s what it’s doing, right?” Amara nodded. “So how’s he gonna know for sure when it’s over?”

“Fake love is a _shackle_ , detective, one that Barry readily feels. The fact that it _is_ a shackle may even be slowing down his ability to fall properly in love. Because real love is not a cage, it is an open…”

“Door?” Cisco finished with a grin.

“I do hate when Disney finds a way to steal all the best lines.”

He snorted, “we’ve even got Snart as the Snow Queen here.”

Iris sighed. “Is there anything else we should know?”

“Nothing that isn’t common sense. Nurture their love. It doesn’t need to be mutual, unless Barry’s unable to fall in love with someone who doesn’t love him in return, but it must be real. If they only time they spend together involves Barry in the deepest throes of the curse, I can’t imagine that’s conducive to genuine emotion.”

Right. Like the time they were spending today, the same hours she spent distracting herself thinking of anything except what they might be doing, and whether Barry might be enjoying it all or not. Her throat felt stuck, so all she could do was nod.

“Can I ask…” Caitlin interjected again. “How does magic… work? If it’s relying on Barry’s hormones to impact his actions, how were his hormones changing even before he knew what the curse said? How does that ‘interpretation’ thing work?”

Amara raised an eyebrow. “Magic relies on intuition and experience. It acts first upon the soul which translates it for the body, not the other way around.”

“Like… an astral plane?” Cisco asked, getting invested. Iris almost smiled, amused despite herself that now that they had some answers, they wanted more. “Like if magic is working on a different dimension—or better yet—let’s say magic is working at a different _frequency_ , right? So what you’re seeing when you see magic on Barry ‘n Iris is like vibrational energy.”

“Science and magic interact, but you can’t explain one with the other.”

“Are you sure?,” Caitlin asked, shuffling forward. "If the intent of magic occurs on a different vibrational frequency and latches onto to someone, like Barry in this case? That then begins to affect his cells, and _morphs_ upon interacting with his body… it’s like a confluence of factors on a neurological, physiological—”

“An entertaining thought but,” Amara cut in, starting to stand, looking both entertained and chagrined. “I have matters to attend to. Katherine, do stay and entertain the scientists, won’t you?”

“What—but—”

“It’s the least you can do, dear. I’ll see you when I’m back in town. Try not to curse anyone while I’m away.”

Iris let out a shocked laugh. Caitlin and Cisco turned their attention like sharks onto Kat, who definitely looked a little out of her depth and Iris patted her father on the arm, following Amara out.

“Mrs. Van Trost?”

“Please, Iris. Call me Amara.”

“I just… I wanted to thank you, for coming out here. You were right—you didn’t have to volunteer to do this. Not after we crashed your meeting. Most of the people we run up against…”

“You’re not against me, Iris. Or Katherine, though your anger is… more than justified. But the Church of the Goddess isn’t looking to make enemies.”

“Just to steal things?” Iris deadpanned.

“A powerful grimoire is deadly in the wrong hands. I’m a donor of many items to the museum, I won’t apologize for asking Kat to take one dangerous one in return.”

“You _asked_ her to—”

Amara shrugged, “she’s young and desperate to prove herself. It’s better to give her outlets than to let her run amok. She got well in over her head though, and I take responsibility for it.”

“So you’re the one I should be mad at?”

“If you must. But why do you think we came, Iris? The Flash is a force for good in troubling times. Once I’d understood Kat’s side, the only option left was to try to find him and help sort this out. I would have come to you sooner and not your father, but I was worried your Barry might panic if I set foot near you again.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I’m certain you can. And I will admit…” she smiled, warmer again, “I am a little biased. You _do_ hold a deep spark, Iris. Your brother too, even if his head is too full of science to accept his intuition. So if helping out your lover means we might stay in touch, I won’t be sad for that. So let me know if there is anything I can do for you, or any more questions I can answer.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Amara caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Good luck, Iris. I hope to see you soon.”

 

[ … ]

 

Len got two blocks from STAR Labs before he had to stop. He couldn’t breathe. He leaned against a wall behind an industrial building, their work site empty on the weekend, trying to hold himself up. He hadn’t panicked like this in recent memory and it was choking up his throat, stinging his eyes. His body was sweating underneath his clothes and he slid down the wall against the ground, closing his eyes.

He counted each breath in by four, out by five. He could handle this. He was Leonard fucking Snart. This was a stumbling block. He breathed in, again and again until he had enough oxygen for the blood to stop pounding in his ears.  He shucked his jacket, overheated, put a hand over his eyes to block out the sunlight and just… tried to calm down. He kept coming back to Barry’s expression—hunted. _Haunted_. Kept seeing in his mind’s eye the way he literally ran out of there.

Len couldn’t blame him. A sound—something threatening too close to a sob—tried to escape his throat and he closed it off, tight and constricted, gritting his teeth and pulling it back in.

When the hell had this started to matter. He wasn’t supposed to fucking care about Barry Allen—not like this. What the hell was wrong with him? Did he really think—

He pushed it aside. Pushed any thoughts of Barry and _love_ (even in his head, the word tasted like poison) aside. He didn’t feel steady, but he knew he was. Panic attacks were a headtrip, but his limbs weren’t actually weak like jello. He forced himself to stand.

Why the fuck had he let Barry run him here? He should’ve biked. He had the cold gun strapped to his thigh in plain view, walking through downtown wasn’t exactly an option, grabbing a cab was only gonna work if the driver was obtuse or oblivious and Len wasn’t in the mood to take that chance. He glanced around—no cars in sight. Maybe he should go back to the lab and take West’s. Or Van Trost’s, though she likely had a driver waiting for her.

He leaned back against the wall, exhausted by the thought of finding a car. Exhausted by his own anxiety. He needed to stop lying to himself. It bred panic every time. Bile rose in his throat just _considering_ examining the truth so he swallowed it back. Another time.

He gave in and pulled out his phone. He had to clear his throat before he dialed, forced his voice down to cool but she’d notice anyway—

“Afternoon, Lenny.”

“Lise, hi. You free right now?”

“Are you alright?”

He cursed himself silently. “ _Fine_. Just… peachy.”

“What’s going on?”

He wasn’t going to be able to tell her to drop it this time. He sighed and gave up. “I need a ride.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been dying to get to this reveal omg.
> 
> Someone commented a while back that if the curse forced Barry to fall in love, that would be especially cruel because that means that when it’s broken, it’s still not really over? Which… is accurate. So I suppose I’m especially cruel ^^;
> 
> And it would have been lovely to end on that “you have to fall in love with your mortal enemy” bit, wouldn’t it? just a gut-wrenching chapter ending emotional cliff? Sadly, that was not the word count I was aiming for (and yes, I care about consistent chapter word-counts for whatever compulsive reason). It was also really hard to decide who’s PoV to do the conversation and reveal in, tbh. Barry’s might seem like the obvious choice, but I really felt it would be better to do an outsider’s PoV witnessing his reactions, and then it was down to Iris vs. Len. Len won because Inner Turmoil™.
> 
> More than a few of you guessed it! I suspect some more of you would have guessed it too except you might have thought to yourselves “that’s too cheesy and obvious, right?” Wrong. I love cheesy and obvious. And making it non-obvious as I can while it’s still like, blatantly there. Len’s first question about magic in chapter one is asking if it’s like Disney magic, which was the earliest foreshadowing that yep—this is basically an x-rated Disney curse. But it’s only that way because Barry’s a ridiculous romantic who canonically treats the people he’s in love with different than anyone else in terms of what he’d do for them and how far he’ll go for them. Like I seriously did pull these ideas of will and interpretation straight from his canon characterization. 
> 
> (As for “why lust” if it still feels kind of opaque here, Iris will ruminate a bit more on that later. It’s really just a… personality thing.)
> 
> For the record: the same curse hitting Joe? Would’ve been like, him needing to adopt an enemy? Loving it like a child? He puts all of himself into raising his kids, gives everything he can and is to his children. The same curse hitting Cisco? Would’ve been a more in keeping with Kat’s intent. It would’ve been sacrificing and willing to die if an enemy willed it, not because he’s not strong willed, but because he sees submission more objectively. “I bare my neck, I submit, curse is over, bam.” I really think it’s neat to consider magic as interacting with the individual it hits? But maybe that’s just me… 
> 
> As a total aside, I don’t think it’s in any way hinted at, so I just wanna say that in my own headcanons about Amara Van Trost, she is absolutely an immortal and has been around for a few hundred years now. That has no bearing on the story here, I just like it and wanted to share :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! <333 As always, comments are love :)
> 
>  
> 
> **Edit/Update: i'm currently in the final semester of my phd so this isn't 'officially' on hold but there's a few tiny chance i'll be able to update until after my final defense in a few months, just as a heads up**


	10. Exposed

Lisa didn’t wait once he got in the passenger side, reversing for a u-turn and they were on their way, STAR Labs in the rearview.

“Lenny…”

“Just wait till I’ve had a damn drink.”

She let out a laugh that sounded forced. “I did leave that vodka at your place.”

They headed there. He almost wished they’d gone somewhere else after he walked in the door, but this was fine. At least it wasn’t the safehouse where he kept meeting Barry.

“Well?” she crossed one leg over the other, perched on the arm of his couch. Len poured himself vodka on the rocks and took a seat, sipping.

“I don’t…” he sighed, fist balling and unballing, he stretched out the too-tight fingers. “I don’t do touchy-feely.”

“I’m well aware. You’re still gonna have to give me _something_.”

“What I’m in is… _complicated._ ” He drummed his fingers on the outside of his glass. He pursed his lips. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

She came and sat with him at the table, leaning forward and tilting her head to catch his eye. “Whatever it is, Lenny, you know I have your back.”

He sighed, aggravated and leaning away, eyes tracking the band of sunlight streaking in from the window, disrupting the shadows on the other side of the room. “You ever been in love, Lise?”

“I…” He didn’t need to look to know she was surprised, but when she cleared her throat he stole a glance at her anyway. She was looking in the opposite direction from him, out the window. “Once or twice.”

“’N what was it like?”

She turned her head sharply to look at him. He thought she was going to ask but after a second she relaxed a little, almost a huffed out laugh, the tired kind. “The best and worst thing in the world. It hurts, it’s exhausting, you can’t help but want more of it. It’s… soft. It’s everything. And that’s just the _moment_ you realize you’re in the thick of it, let alone dealing with the rest.”

He thought about the first stolen, mid-parking lot kiss he’d seen between Barry and Iris, how they held so tight together in that second.

“Lenny… are you…?”

“No.” He shook his head, pushing down the instinct to lie, admitting, “I don’t know. But that’s not why I’m asking.” He drummed his fingers again, finished his vodka. “Lemme start by saying, magic is real.”

“Magic? Like—”

“Full Disney.”

“ _How_?”

“Still working that one out. Seems it’s a thing, we’re going with it.”

“And…”

“And I’m in a very twisted little fairytale.”

 

[ … ]

 

Walking in the door was hard.

Barry was bone tired, every muscle in his legs and most of the rest of his body aching. He was ready to collapse. It still wasn’t enough, anxiety still not quelled. He couldn’t run from this anyway, not even sure why he’d tried. Seeing both oceans hadn’t helped given him any more clarity or perspective, except that when the stars came out over the pacific, he was weary and reminded of how small he was, all of this was. Come what may, they’d find a way through it. They had to.

And he had to see her.

He turned the knob. He wanted to call out his prescience but all he felt able to do was clear his throat. She was on her feet already anyway, wrapped up in one of his sweaters and a huge quilt on the couch, eyes red from crying. His whole chest ached.

“Iris…”

She was in his arms then, her own around him almost too tight. He wouldn’t change it for the world. And for a few minutes they stayed like that, just holding each other, just breathing each other in. The smell of her hair, the softness to her, the way she fit so perfect in his arms—he’d stay here forever if he could.

“I’m so sorry…” he found the words to say eventually, unsticking his throat. She sniffed and shook her head.

“You needed time.”

“I mean… for all of it.”

She swallowed and stepped back, holding him by both arms. Her expression was watery but determined. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s… not. What are we gonna do, Iris?”

He meant it mostly rhetorically, mostly looking for some, any, affirmation. But she squared up like she’d been waiting for that exact question.

 “You’re going to fall in love with Leonard Snart.”

His head shook on instinct, pulling back slightly. “Wh—I can’t—I won’t—I love _you_ , Iris—I won’t just give you up.”

“You won’t!” She rushed to clarify, hand moving to his chest, over his heart. Her voice got softer then, “you won’t, Barry. You don’t have to.”

His hand curled over hers, holding tight. “I just… don’t know if I can love anyone else but you.” His voice was almost too quiet to hear, “I don’t know if I can ever break this curse. What if I can’t?”

It had plagued him all day, dodging his heels. All month, since this situation started.

She leaned up on her toes and kissed his forehead and he could feel more of his own tears threatening to fall. “You will. You have a big heart; you can love more than one person.”

“But the way I love you—”

“Love doesn’t have to look the same with each person, Barry. You loved Patty, right?”

“Yes.”

“But you never stopped loving me, did you?”

He almost laughed, “never.”

“And I loved Eddie, _and_ I loved you. So you can love Leonard, too. And me. That’s how we get through this.”

“Iris…you can’t pretend you’re okay with that—with me purposefully, _actively_ falling for someone else?”

She hesitated. He could see it, her struggling to find words—her struggling, period. It was all there, like it had been this whole time, under the surface but she couldn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes and Barry hated that he was the one to put that look on her face.

“No,” she whispered, finally looking down at the space between them. “I’m… not. But we haven’t got much choice here, so I’ll be fine.”

“Iris—”

“No.” She stopped, sniffed, swiping at the tears and his heart _ached_ in his chest. “No, Barry, you don’t get to fall on your sword this time, okay? I can get over some jealousy.”

He touched her cheek, the tears there, stopping her from wiping them away. “This isn’t just jealousy, Iris.”

She sniffed, looking away. “I know.”

“Tell me.”

“Barry—”

“Please.”

They sat on the couch. She pulled in a breath, worrying her lip with her teeth, shaking her head just a little. He could see her gathering her thoughts.

“I hate that I don’t know him. I hate that you don’t have a choice. I hate that he doesn’t love you—that he’s _hurt_ you and he doesn’t deserve you, Barry—” he opened his mouth but she kept going, “I hate that this is _going_ to hurt you, that it’s going to hurt all of us. I hate that I have no one to blame, that not even the person who did this to you wanted it and there’s no one to punch, no way to get even or to get around it and it drives me _crazy_. I hate that we _just_ finally worked this out and started dating and not three months in you’re forced to love somebody else and I don’t know—” she held her fingers to her mouth, a choked out sob coming out “—I don’t know how _not_ to hate it. I don’t know how to make it okay but I _need_ it to be okay, Barry.”

He wrapped her up tight in his arms, gut twisting itself in circles. “It will be, Iris. I promise. It’s going to be okay. Whether you hate it,” his voice caught and he swallowed, “or not. You can hate it as much as you need.”

She shook her head against his chest but he pressed on, “you can. You can hate him and this curse and anything you need to. You can _be_ angry, Iris. Be as angry as you need to get it out. You can—” his fingers tightened on her, “you can do whatever you need to do. Even sleep with other people—”

“I wouldn’t—” She pulled away enough to look at his face, disbelief in her features.

“I can’t expect you to accept this without being willing to offer the same in return, if that’s what you decide you need.” No matter how jealous it made him feel just to think about it. “You can do whatever you need to do to process this. So long as we have each other.”

“We will have each other. We’ll have each other and you… you’ll fall in love with him. And then we’ll be done with this curse,” she said against him, almost a sigh, tired and muffled by his shirt. He nodded, chin propped up on top of her head.

He was going to fall in love with Leonard Snart.

 

[ … ]

 

“So what’re you gonna do?” Lisa asked finally once he was done explaining and the silence had stretched too long.

He rolled the base of his tumbler in circles against the table, staring into the transparent liquid. “Nothing,” he drawled eventually.

“Why not?”

“I don’t believe in lost causes.”

“So you’ll just… keep on? Wait around for him to fall in love with you?”

He snorted. “Flash won’t fall in love with me. But I won’t leave him to die because of it.” He shook his head, everything tasting bitter. Once upon a time he would’ve iced the Flash for this headache and been done with it.

“Why won’t he?”

His gaze flicked to her. “Three guesses.”

“Lenny… you are _not_ unlovable.”

He put his empty glass down a little too hard and paused, exhaled, tapped his fingers against the wooden surface of the table. He felt full. He felt empty. Something dense was bouncing around the hollow where his chest was supposed to be, taking up residence in the vicinity of his lungs.

“Even if he ever could—get passed all the betrayal, death, violence, the whole gig—even if he could go there enough for it to mean what it’s gotta—he’s got _her_.”

“So? You’re a thief— _steal_ him!”

He shook his head. She didn’t understand. “’N that’s the one surefire way to make him hate me. And then we really would be stuck like this.”

She dropped her head forward onto her arms, frustrated. “Lenny…”

“Don’t worry about me, sis. I can handle myself, at least until me or his team figures out a better plan.” He poured another finger of vodka. “Besides, what other options do I have?”

 

[ … ]

 

_When you’re free, we should talk._

It had been two days since Barry sent that text, still with no reply. He dragged his hand through his hair, sitting on the side of his bed and staring at the phone. He just needed Leonard to understand, to accept this, to let him make him feel good and reassure him and kiss him and—

He shook his head, trying to cut through the fever. He let out a slow breath and the bedroom fan swung back in his direction, helping a bit to cool the sweat on his back. It was evening and a day 5, too hot to work today, intermittently aching for Len too much to think straight. It was getting hard to think of much else. He swallowed and knew he had to send the next message he’d typed, even as it was eating up his stomach. He just wasn’t sure if he felt sick with worry or anticipation at this point.

_Can I see you tonight?_

He hit send and let out another breath. Iris had offered to call him but the thought made Barry sick. She shouldn’t have to—

“He respond?”

Barry glanced up at Iris in the doorway. “I just sent it.” He tried not to despair. They _did_ technically have a back-up plan, a day to track down someone else who’d tried to kill him, but the prospect of calling up Henry Hewitt or Mark Mardon for sex (for so much more than sex) was turning his stomach. He couldn’t go through all of this again, couldn’t imagine going through any of it with anyone other than Len.

Couldn’t imagine wanting anyone other than Len.

Iris came and sat down beside him, stroking his back gently. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing. His mind automatically conjured up an image of Len on his other side, hand just as soothing and cool, leaning in to whisper in his ear, breath tickling, nipping just a little. Barry swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing— _nothing_ —to be sorry for, Barr.”

“I do. I do—this is all my fault. My stupid brain and stupid _soul_ and stupid…” he wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t going to feel sorry for himself. He swallowed it back, fingers flexing against his thighs. She brushed the sweat-sticky hair out of his face.

“That _soul_ —that beautiful deep romantic soul? That’s what makes _me_ love you, Barry. And I wouldn’t have you any other way, curse or no curse.”

His throat clicked. He felt caught between wanting to nuzzle her neck and wanting to hide deeper in her arms.

“What if I can’t…”

They’d been over it, every which way. It didn’t need repeating again, already worn like the hole he’d paced in the floor the past three days.

“You can,” she assured him. He nodded against the crook of her neck and she carded her fingers through the softer hairs at the back of his. It made him shiver despite the heat.

“Can we…” he nosed against her neck, heart skipping up a little, moving his hand to her thigh. They’d already had sex that morning, had every day since getting the news about the curse. They couldn’t help but cling to each other—or maybe that was just him, needing to feel her, to feel this, to hold on to it with her, give her everything he had.

And wasn’t that just the issue?

“Yeah,” she breathed, and he pushed the other thoughts aside, mouthing the skin she tilted her head to make available for him. He sucked at her neck and raked his teeth over her jaw before capturing her lips.

He was already hard. It didn’t take much, fevered as he was. God, she smelled good. If only she could cure him. Or her with Leonard—if only she came with him and touched him while Leonard did, let him kiss and worship every inch of both of them, pull those types of gasps from them simultaneously, slide down between their legs and prove his devotion. If only Len was there with them right now, sliding his hands down Barry’s sides, opening him up while he kissed Iris, pressing inside—

 _Bzzzzt_ —his phone vibrated in his pocket and he almost jumped back, pulling away from the kiss that was already so out of control. He was overtop Iris, had had his tongue somewhere in the region of her tonsils and her cheeks were flushed as he moved back to check—

_Come over now._

_Let’s try to get this done before intermission is over_.

He almost snorted, knowing he was watching a hockey game, but that just made him think of the jersey, of how goddamn _close_ he’d been to cumming in Len’s hand; his balls gave a sympathetic twinge just remembering how edged he’d been.

But now, now he could get his satisfaction.

“I take it you’re going?” Iris asked, stopping halfway to clear her raspy throat. His eyes snapped to hers, remembering where he was and what he was about to do.

“Should I, er…”

“No!” she laughed, swatting his arm, “ _go_. I’ll be fine.”

He wanted to kiss her goodbye but wasn’t sure if he’d be able to leave bed if he leaned down and kissed her again, fever or no fever.

He was off to Len in a heartbeat.

 

[ … ]

 

Len was tense, knuckles almost white, waiting for—

The lightning and the wind registered at about the same time and Len winced against it.

“There’s this thing called _knocking_ , Barry.” He was already standing, and Barry was already pushing down the cowl of his suit.

“ _Leonard_.”

He was good and out of it, in Len’s space a second later and he gripped Barry’s wrists before the man could pull him all the way in for a kiss, dodging—

“ _Don’t._ ”

Barry whined and nuzzled his neck and Len grabbed the cuffs off the side table.

“Get that suit top off and put these on. Why are you even wearing that thing?”

Barry peeled off the top in record time, shuddering when he closed the cuffs around his wrists. Len finally felt himself relax by a fraction, watching his power dampen.

“Rounds after, doesn’t matter, just wanna—”

He moved into Len’s space again, slow enough to track this time but still getting his hands on Len’s shirt, curling into his sweater even as Len shoved him back.

“Enough. You’re not here for romance.”

“Lenny—”

“Enough with that nickname. _Don’t_ argue. I know you’re crap at following orders, ‘n you think you know what I want but for once in your life, Barry, just do what I tell you.”

Len’s eyes finally landed properly on his face, glaring, and he noticed how dark and glassy Barry’s eyes were, how flushed he looked. The man swallowed and whined, tilting his chin up a little. He was sweating noticeably. “I’m sorry Lenn—Leonard. I’m so sorry you’re upset ‘n I need you, need you so bad, do anything for you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a vein start to throb in his forehead. “Goddammit Barry. Let’s just get this over with.” This shit was exactly what he was trying to avoid.

“It’s okay, Lenny,” Barry’s voice was softer and the man leaned into Len’s space again, pulling him in by his sweater, breathing deep. “I want it, you know I want you. I’ll do whatever you want me to, just please let me make you feel good.”

“Let you _love_ me, you mean?” It came out twisted and bitter but Barry didn’t seem to care, eyes lighting up.

“ _Yes_.” He kissed Len full on the lips and he pushed the other man’s face away.

“Fuck _off_ , Barry. You know what—” He pushed him back hard, until he hit the couch, and kept a hand on his chest. “Let’s just get this out the way right here.” He started working on his own belt and Barry’s eyes dropped down to track the movement. He actually _moaned_ and started working on the belt of his tight red suit, erection obvious in those pants.

“Turn around and bend over.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Barry moaned again, pushing his pants down, his underwear with them. Len’s fingers had slipped up to his clavicle almost unbidden, his own pants undone. He was about to take his hand off Barry, to grab his arm and twist him around and get this over with, lube in his pocket anyway, but—

 _Creaaak_ —

The door—

His heart slammed up to his throat at the same time as his hand moved on instinct to his cold gun sitting on the side table, stretching to reach it and it was up and aimed at the door by the time—

 _“Mick_?!”

The man blinked. Len’s stomach did a backflip. His hand had slipped down to Barry’s stomach with the man arched backward over the back of the couch to see who it was, having to in order to see the door. His head was upside down, hair trailing against the cushion of the couch. Len couldn't help but notice he was lightly panting, the rise and fall of his chest. He snapped his eyes back up to Mick.

“Hey buddy,” Mick actually let out a little laugh and Len de-powered the gun, aiming it away with a breath. This would be fine. Mick would go and nothing would come of it except some well-deserved ribbing for—

“You invited Mick,” Barry's voice was quiet, wounded. Len’s eyes snapped down to him. “You’re… giving me away?”

“What—” He almost shook his head. What the hell was Barry even on about? “I didn’t _invite_ —Mick, what are you even doing here?”

The man gave him a flat look, voice gruff and annoyed as he answered. “Hockey’s on, bar’s full of frat boy idiots ’cause it’s the play-offs.” He jingled a six pack to prove his point. “Didn’t realize you’d be getting busy. I’ll leave you ‘n your—” he’d already started to waggle his eyebrows but stopped, expression stalled as he glanced down at Barry. Or—fuck.

Right next to Barry. Where the Flash insignia was facing up on his suit top strewn on the coffee table. Mick’s eyes flicked between it and Barry and Len.

“Snart is that—”

Len's whole body tensed.

“ _Don’t_ —ask.” The man was already reaching for a weapon and Len brought the cold gun halfway up in warning. “I said _don’t_ —”

“Come join us,” Barry cut in. It took a second to register. Did he just—“You can fuck me.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Len snapped down at him. Barry’s fingers were still tangled in the front of his sweater, still naked in an obvious way, and was apparently oblivious to the fact that he was about to get roasted alive because he was _propositioning_ Mick.

“I dreamt about it,” his eyes flicked to Len’s and he tried hard not to identify the anger twisting in his gut. Barry wasn’t making anything easy on him, legs framing Len's, grinding his hips up in an obscene way, reminding Len his own pants were undone. “Both of you, taking me together. Mick holding me down, using me while you take what you want. God it would be so hot.”

“What the fuck is going on, Snart?”

What, indeed. If only Len had half an answer to give. Barry groaned, a sound that might've been frustrated if it wasn't so full of lust, eyes lidden as he leaned back again and this time reached his cuffed hands back toward Mick, making grabby motions.

“I’ll make you feel so good, Heatwave.”

Barry was definitely barking up the wrong tree but Mick’s perturbed expression didn’t seem to register at all. Len could tell he was staring at those cuffs more than anything, any handle on this situation gone.

“That’s enough, Flash. Bedroom. Go.”

Barry whined but stood fully, which brought him way too into Len’s space and he stopped there, panting against Len’s cheek and clutching his chest.

"Need-"

“I said— _what the fuck is going on_?” Mick stepped closer, slamming his six pack on the shelf, gun out. Len put himself between Barry and Mick, wishing the other man would get out of sight already.

“Don’t worry about it,” he ground out.

“Why is he acting like that?”

Barry did _not_ help measures by pressing himself against Len from behind, cuffed hands twisting in the back of his sweater. “ _Lenny_ , lemme make you both feel good, I swear I can calm him down, just—”

“Shut _up_ , Barry!” He took a breath, and then another, holding a finger out to Mick to forestall whatever bullshit he was about to say because _fuck_ he hadn’t planned on saying Barry’s name but now it was out. He forced himself into a cooler headspace, slowed his breathing.

“Knew you were obsessed Snart but this a line.”

“Cute. But it’s not like that.”

Mick’s eyes narrowed, noticing the shift in him, no doubt. “Then why d’you have him cuffed up ‘n out of it?”

“It’s not like _—_ ” Barry was shouldering in front of Len, ever the hero, but Len grabbed his shoulder before he could make it past, pushing him back.

“Ah ah, Mick doesn’t want to see your dick, Barry. Mick, Barry here is ill. I happen to have the cure. I didn’t choose this but—here we are. And since there’s only one thing I can do to fix him, I’m gonna take him back to that rickety bed and do it, and you can sit tight out here and wait for him to be back in his right head and then _he_ can explain to you what the fuck is wrong with him.” He paused for effect. “Fair?”

“You’re gonna fuck him when he’s out of his mind.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Barry, bedroom. _Now_.”

For once, Barry actually listened. Kicking the rest of the way out of his pants and walking down the hall buck naked, but he listened. Mick’s eyes burned holes into the back of Len’s head as he followed.

 

[ … ]

 

Barry collapsed onto his knees as soon as Len closed the door behind him, pressing his face into Len’s stomach, wishing he could uncuff his hands and wrap them around the other man. “I’m so sorry, Leonard. So sorry. I’m so hot for you and you’re so angry and I thought you wanted Mick—d’you want Mick? Is that why you don’t want me to love you?”

“Mick’s asexual and I’m not fucking interested in him now shut up and get on the bed.”

Barry whined, wishing he could make the other man feel better, could make it right somehow but he did as directed, getting up onto the bed. He wanted to make this easier on Len, getting onto his elbows and knees without complaint, knowing he would enjoy it any which way. He wanted Len to enjoy it, wanted to kiss the other man and help him relax, but every line in the man was stiff and Barry’s cock was aching for attention.

It was just like the first time, and he shuddered thinking of it, feeling the mattress dip as Len joined him on it. He wanted Len to remember it too, remember how good Barry was for him that time.

“Lenny…” he gasped the second he felt the man’s hand, cupping his asscheek and pulling it gently to the side. The hand paused.

“I said stop it with that one.”

He made a noise in his throat, unable to contain it. The grief of making Len so despondent was coupled with the feeling of slick fingers testing his rim. Two breached him at once and he gasped and arched into and away from it at once, almost too much with how fast and deep they were suddenly forced inside him.

“Feels so good,” he gasped the second the burn started to abate. And then he groaned and dropped his head between his shoulders because Len pressed a third finger in, fast and just as sudden as the others, almost jabbing him and it was so much so much, too much but he wanted it. Wanted the burn and the stretch and the pain and anything that—

“Len—” he gasped, the first thrust of all three almost brutal but his eyes rolled back, cock leaking. “Want you inside me.”

“You want anyone inside you who’s tried to kill you, Barry.”

“Nnnn,” Barry groaned. God, Len was jealous. He was jealous of Mick. That was the problem. He could fix that. “Want you—just you.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

It was. It was so true. Barry opened his mouth to say so but the fingers pulled out just as sudden as they had entered him and it left him breathless. He knew it was about to burn, that Len was angry and wasn’t going to hold back, was going to fuck his frustrations out into Barry and he could give him that, could take it and love it, could soak it up and relish it and fuck it was going to feel so good.

He breathed, then waited, listening to the sound of Len’s hand on his own cock, except after a beat he realized—

Barry rolled over, at least as much as he could with his legs trapped on either side of Len.

“Let me—”

“ _Don’t_.”

He hesitated. Why couldn’t Len see how much Barry wanted to make him feel good?

“Please Len—I love the taste of your cock. I want it. I wanna get you hard.”

Because he wasn’t. But he _was_ glaring at Barry.

“You barely know _how_ to suck cock.”

Barry shifted fully over and got up onto his knees, eye level with Len but the man jerked back as soon as he tried to touch, eyes hard. Barry shuddered, heat licking at his insides.

“Need you—need to make you feel as good as I feel.” Len let him nuzzle his neck then and he’d do anything to quell the other man’s anxiety, loosen the stiffness in him. “Wanna do this for you.”

“I can get hard on my own.”

He slid his hands down Len’s front, mouth his neck, memorizing the taste of his skin. “I know. I want to. Want _you_. Just you.”

“You just asked Mick to double-team you.”

His hand caught Barry’s wrist just above his cock. Barry sighed against his neck, whispering close to his ear. “I don’t get off in my spare time thinking about Mick’s hands on my body.”

“Barry…” It was halfway a warning, but only halfway. Barry moved to kissing the other side of his neck.

“Don’t know Mick, don’t trust him. Don’t want you to leave me with him. Just you.”

The man swallowed.

“It’s true,” he moved to push Len’s pants and underwear further down his thighs. Len let him. He kissed the side of his lips. “Just you. I don’t picture Mick with me ‘n Iris.”

The man inhaled sharply. “She’s off limits.”

Barry shuddered. It was true and he knew there was a reason but right now it didn’t matter in the slightest. He didn’t _want_ her to be off limits.

His voice dropped down to whisper against Len’s lips. “I don’t get off thinking about Mick inside of her. Just you.”

Len inhaled again and Barry kissed him as he did. He reached down and the other man was halfway hard already, groaned appreciatively when Barry got his hands on him. He pushed Len back until he was laying on his back and Barry was over him, then moved down and licked the tip of his cock, three quarters of the way hard now.

“I want _you_ —I kissed you, I wore your jersey.” He licked up Len’s cock from base to tip along each side. “I wanted to cum down your throat. I wasn’t thinking about anyone but you.”

“You damn well better not have been.” He rested a hand on Barry’s head.

Barry hummed and wrapped his mouth around Len’s cock, sucking. He relished Len’s gasp, working him as best as he could despite the cuffs, trying to remember what he’d liked from the other night, eager to please. His own cock throbbed in time, his eyes almost rolling back when Len gripped his hair. He could do this—he could do anything to please Len. Last time he’d been able to open his throat, pleasing Len more important than air, and he lost himself into that feeling, to that desire. It felt so good, _he_ felt so good. He could almost cum from just this alone. His throat unstuck and—

Len groaned and Barry couldn’t breathe but he didn’t need to, loving the taste, the feeling, the fact that Len was hard as diamonds and it was because of him. Len’s thumb brushed his jaw, hips rolling slightly and Barry’s eyes were watering and after a few thrusts he had to pull back, instincts taking over and he pulled in air but it was okay. Len was sighing, pleased.

“Okay. Get back on your knees.”

“I can—”

“Don’t even _think_ about riding me again, Barry. Knees.”

Barry almost giggled, assuming the position. He could hear the shift in his voice, less angry, more teasing again. Len _wanted_ this, wanted him.

He moaned loud when Len entered him. The prep had been too fast and cheap. There was enough lube but it stretched him out, just this side of pain, impaling him. He felt so _full_ already—

“Like a fucking vice,” Len’s voice was strained.

“So big, Lenny. You’re so big—filling me up so full.”

“Fuck, just… so tight.” He started to thrust and Barry groaned with it, moving with him. The slap of skin on skin fill the room alongside the creaking of the bed and Barry’s breathy moans, desperate to get off, to get Len off, feeling like it had taken forever to get here. He’d been aching for it since he was in that jersey, spread out on this bed with Len’s lips around his cock.

“So good, so good, yes, god, _yes_ —”

“Fuck you’re noisy.” He was slamming in deep and hard.

“ _Len_ —” it might have been halfway shouted, “need— _ah_ —please, need you to touch me—”

“Fuck, Barry—keep it down.”

Barry whined. Len was still thinking about Mick, about how he would overhear. “Want you,” he gasped out quieter. “Only you.”

Len’s hips stuttered. “Stop lying to me.”

Barry rocked himself back against Len. “Only you ‘n Iris.”

Len growled, thrusts resuming even harder, hands clamped hot and hard into his hips. “Stop bringing her up.”

Barry couldn’t lose him to this, needed to make him understand, to feel _good_. To feel loved.

“You answered—ah—ah- _f-fuck_ —the ph-phone—god Lenny—” He rasped quietly, barely able to think for remembering, for the fever pulling at him and making everything ache too good. “Thought I was gonna die.”

“Saturday?” Len was almost breathless, fucking into him.

“Mm—yeah—made me so hot. Knew— _ah_ —you were kinky.” He pulled in air, Len’s hand suddenly there, teasing him again in almost the exact same way. “Thought you were gonna make me cum right on the— _nnnn_ —phone. Put me on speaker ‘n just— _fuck_ —”

“God, Barry—” it sounded hot, irreverent. Heat coiled inside Barry, pleased, desperate. Len’s hips were speeding up. He could feel his own orgasm building, Len’s fingers teasing his tip of his cock. Barry was on edge, the build-up of sensation threatening to overwhelm. Len felt good and Len was inside him and it felt like warmth exploding in his stomach. “You an exhibitionist?”

Barry moaned. He wasn’t, but when he was with Len, “wanna— _nnn_ —want the whole world to see how much I’m yours. Want—ah—want you to raw me, Len ‘n just—just plug me up like that— _mark_ me—make me take it—”

“You want that? Nn, want me to plug you full of my cum?”

His eyes rolled back, body quivering—“want it so bad, Len, want your cum—”

“Fuck, fuck _fuck_ , Barry—I’m—”

Len’s hand snapped back from stroking his cock and Barry almost sobbed, needing it, feeling Len hold him tight by both hips again, cock so deep he felt carved out inside, right at that edge and it was almost too much, almost enough. His own cock throbbed with want, knowing he got Len there with the dirty talk, and he was warm all over, hot in his center.

“Yeah—come in me, Len—just _ah_ —fuck _yes_ —”

He felt it, the pulse, the moment Len’s orgasm hit him because his fever lifted the second he did, snapping back to himself. Barry let out a half-sobbed moan, trembling, feeling the man drive himself inside over and over, hips slamming home hard enough to bruise. He could hear Len’s heaving breaths, hands hot on Barry’s hips still.

“Fuck,” Barry gasped out. Fuck, he was himself again. Fuck, Mick was down the hall and he’d been so _loud_. Fuck, he needed to cum so badly he could almost cry, Len’s cock still thick and heavy inside him, buried to the hilt, grinding still, _finishing_ still. It was pressing against his prostate and his cock was leaking precum everywhere and he needed—he needed it even more than before, no fever to make him prioritize Len, even when the man was still grinding against him, using him. The fever was about Len. This—this was about him.

He heard Leonard sigh and he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

“I need to cum,” he couldn’t even think better of it, horny to the point of insanity, shuddering as the man shifted slightly inside him. He heard the sharp inhale—“I’m me, not the fever I just—god I’m _on edge_.”

He expected Len to pull out, to turn him over, to coldly tell him to take care of it himself. But he gasped when, after a split second of dizzying hesitation and waiting, he felt Len’s right hand shift off his hip, taking him back in hand. “ _Len_ —”

“You sure you’re—”

“I’m me I just fucking—” He stifled the rest of it when Len’s thumb circled his tip, groaning into the sheets.

His hand was stroking so perfectly, fast and focused and his balls were already tight, already there and Len hadn’t pulled out yet and his cock was right _there_ and—

“ _Leonard_!”

Fucking _finally_. His whole body shuddered, he could feel it in his toes and the roots of each hair, almost twitching out his pleasure, feeling himself pulse around the cock still filling him. His eyes rolled back and his hands fisted the sheets, riding the wave for as long as it lasted. He wasn’t as loud or wanton as the curse made him, knew his voice was so much quieter, lower register, almost a growl to it. He tried not to wonder about the differences Len noticed, just let that hand milk him through the best orgasm the man had given him yet, stroking him till he was empty and sated.

There was a quiet moment where they both just breathed. Len pulled out. Barry fell onto his side, exhausted. They were both breathing heavy. There was too much to process about what had just happened. About _this_ being the first time he’d seen Len since—

He pushed that thought aside. Leonard was already up, throwing the condom into the trash bin in the corner. Barry’s eyes tracked him. He was too sore to want to move quite yet.

“Couldn’t have been any rougher, huh?”

Len glanced back at him. “You’ll heal.”

He shot him a glare, wincing as he sat up, lower back aching with it. “Fine, just—”

“I’ll be right back.” Len left the room, the door cracked in his wake, the sounds of the hockey game filtering in from down the hall. He was washing up and Barry sighed and pulled a pillow into his lap, uncomfortably nude. He glanced at the closet where he knew that jersey must be tucked away again. Len was back a minute later, tossing Barry a washcloth that he wouldn’t admit to being eternally grateful for but was.

“We should talk about this.”

“Who you need to talk to is Mick.”

“I’m serious, Leonard. I get why you’ve been avoiding me but we need—”

“Unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘to find a different way to break this curse’ then save it.”

Barry’s mouth worked for a second, no words coming out. Leonard still thought they could… he shook his head, knowing they _would_ have to talk about that, but that was too much ground to cover with Mick waiting down the hall.

“Then how worried should I be? About Mick?” He finally asked, holding his hands out for Leonard to undo his cuffs. The man did, thinking face falling into place.

“Mick’s not interested in coming after you. He won’t do anything with your name and face unless I tell him to. If you piss him off bad enough he might come find you, but that’s only likely to happen if you send him to jail and I’m not around to cool him off.” He paused, tilting his head at Barry. “Still, he’s not an idiot.”

Barry nodded, glad he could feel the speedforce filling his cells again, thrumming in his veins, bolstering him to swallow his pride and explain:

“I was trying to take it down a notch.”

Len looked down at him, obviously with no idea what to make of that. Barry scratched his hand through his hair, wincing at how badly he needed a shower.

“When I came on to Mick,” which was something he wasn’t going to be able to burn from his memory anytime soon, unfortunately. “I mean, I _did_ dream about him—about both of you together, but that was only at the start. I just—he figured out who I was. In my delusional state, once I realized you weren’t pawning me off on him, I thought you might want him with us. And I thought if I seduced him, he wouldn’t care that I was the Flash, and you wouldn’t have to protect me, and it would…” Len’s eyebrows were up and Barry hated how his brain works some days. “Make you feel good. Or pleased.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

He snorted, couldn’t suppress the reaction. The other man’s eyes grew harder.

“I wasn’t jealous, Barry.”

“Bullshit.” He was too exhausted to play that game and he saw Len flinch.

“Fuck you.”

Oh that was—Barry stood up, tight and angry, nudity be damned but at least he kept his voice down. “Look I _appreciate_ everything you’re doing for me but lying to each other isn’t gonna help anything. I’ve been _painfully_ honest with you from the start about all of this—”

“I never got a fucking _say_ in any of this, Barry,” Len hissed back.

“A _say_ , Leonard? When did any of us have a say in this?”

“I’m not the one who went and pissed off a witch or the one who’s got such a goddamn twisted view of submission.”

Barry stepped back, seething. “What the hell do you want from me? I’m doing the best that I can.”

“I already told you: I want you to find some other way to break this curse.”

“Why is it so _awful_ that I might fall for you? Do you hate me that much?”

Something crossed his face, then, and Barry had no idea how to decipher it before it was gone, replaced by a mask of cold and anger. He shook his head, once. “Just drop it, Barry.”

He too exhausted to play any games. “Fine. Whatever. I’m going to talk to Mick.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, just sped out and into his suit, then onto the ratty chair opposite to Mick. He kept his cowl down.

The other man blinked, eyes narrowed to survey him, and turned the hockey game on mute.

“Talk.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now the Rogues know!
> 
> And yay, we’re back from hiatus! And I’m officially Dr. Redhead!
> 
> Anyway, I wrote about 4 different versions of this chapter. In the end it came to looking a lot like the original version (just a bit less meandering) but in retrospect, that’s not surprising. I was overthinking things.
> 
> And that’s in part because I needed to remind myself that this fic is 98% an excuse to write contentious hot smut and indulge this trope to its fullest potential? I’ve been really wanting it to be like That Good and had to be like “wait it’s okay if it’s a hot mess, that’s what it says on the box, that’s why we’re here”. 
> 
> Like I really wanted to include Mick into this scene? There’s no narrative need for it at all. But I wanted it. Because Len gets pissy and jealous and I wanted that to happen. And I wanted him to have to face all this shit in his network too, rather than him being able to pretend this isn’t happening, sort of, which he’s low-key been doing, just completely compartmentalizing. And when I say it like that, it sounds like it has purpose. But 99% I just wanted it, and had to get out of my own head enough to actually write it in just for that reason. And happily, once I did, I realized ways it could help the narrative build, moving forward. So... sometimes just go with it, when you're writing? :)
> 
> Anyway, I think I’ve worked out some of the kinks that were making it hard to proceed with this section of the fic, but hopefully we’re there now. I’m gonna wing some of it, but I think I’ve passed any of the major roadblocks in terms of plotting/pacing for how this’ll finish up. I mean, I always knew what was gonna happen, but I had too much and there were some uh, pacing issues. Hopefully some of that will be streamlined now. 
> 
> More talking next chapter, more magic maybe, and definitely more smut on the way.


	11. Love's Labours

“So that’s it, then?”

Len stared resolutely down the hall, away from Mick. He was still leaning against the wall where he’d been through Barry’s terse explanation, before the speedster had disappeared in lightning and ozone. They’d been quiet for enough minutes now, Mick processing, Len pondering just how many more conversations he didn’t want to have he’d get pulled into before this was all over.

“That’s it.”

“Mazel tov.”

Len narrowed his eyes, finally looking at the other man. “Come again?”

Mick finished his beer with a loud and indelicate exhale, not quite a burp. “Got yourself a boyfriend whose gotta fall head over heels for your sorry ass. No more Flash on your tail once that happens. So congratulations, Snart—you win.”

Len wanted to punch something. Preferably Mick. “I didn’t _plan_ this, Mick. Falling is a curse. ‘N it doesn’t end with me on top.”

That _wasn’t_ a pun. Len almost cursed himself. But Mick turned around in his seat to properly eye him. “You really telling yourself that, boss?”

“What _exactly_ do you think I’m getting out of this except that he owes me?” His voice was dripping icicles.

The man didn’t answer immediately. Len shifted closer, stalking around the couch. Mick kept his eyes trained on him and Len glared down at him.

“Mick.”

The man leaned back in his seat and five years ago they would’ve already thrown fists, Len would’ve already had a sore jaw and possibly a fresh burn. It was close enough he was ready to throw down, but something held them both in check. He wasn’t sure if it was Mick’s accident or the advent of the Flash and metahumans that had made them more cautious with each other, but right now he was almost regretting whatever it was that stayed his hand.  


“Not sure what the fuck you’re playing at, Snart,” he said eventually, measured and gravel-filled at once. “Not sure what it looks like on your end, either. But I’ve seen you run harder cons and wrap prettier marks around your finger. And fucking Red over this shitstain couch ain’t exactly romance.”

Len eyed him carefully, voice drawling as he replied, “what’s your point?”

“If you’re _not_ playing nice and getting him to fall, getting this over with and to the part where he owes you ‘n likes you enough to pay up, what _are_ you getting out of it?”

Chest suddenly tight, Len wasn’t sure he had an answer.

 

[ … ]

 

Mick hated doing this. He wasn’t the brains of the fucking operation and never wanted to be. He sure as hell didn’t go behind Snart’s back either. Except when he did. Like right now.

“Mick?” Lisa’s voice was sleep-filled and alarmed on the other end of the line. No wonder, it wasn’t like Mick had occasion to call her all that often. He glanced down at his sleeping friend, passed out from too much swill, Mick’s tolerance about double his partner’s and he took advantage of that fact tonight.

“Lisey, hey. Got a dumb question for you.”

“I swear to god, Mick, if this is some argument tie-breaker I will throw you in the river.”

He chuckled and almost pictured it but no. “Snart tell you about this side-gig he’s running?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. If it was someone else, he’d figure they probably fell asleep. Not Lisa, though.

“He told you?” she asked eventually.

“More like I walked in on it.”

“Gross.”

“So you know?”

“He told me.”

Mick nodded, mostly believing her. If anyone could twist Snart’s arm to get the truth out of him, it was Lise. “What’re we gonna do about it?”

“I… what? It’s _magic_ , Mick.”

“Way I see it… he’s not thinking straight.”

She hummed, not in disagreement.

“We gonna take care of it?”

“How?”

“We can at start by roasting the bitch who did this to him.”

“Tempting.” She said it like it actually wa. “I think roasting the Flash might be more productive though, then Lenny would actually be free of this.”

He glanced down the hall where Snart was snoring on the sofa. His neck was gonna be all sorts of stiff the next day. “Snart’s soft on him.”

“I know.”

Right.

“So what else?”

She sighed, sounding aggrieved. “I have no idea. It’s three in the morning and I’m not exactly a sorceress.”

He closed his eyes for a second, letting the idea rattle itself loose. “Then let’s find someone who is.”

 

[ … ]

 

“Mick Rory.”

“Mick Rory.”

“ _Mick_ —”

“I know, Iris.”

Barry looked exhausted and Iris bit back her own fear and frustration, sighing it out.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded and shook his head at the same time in that way of his that always reminded her a little of a bobble-head. It was less funny when he followed it with a sigh, curling his fingers and bringing them to his lip in a helpless gesture, holding in whatever spiral his thoughts were circling around into.

“Barr?” She sat beside him on their bed, rubbing a circle into his back.

“No I’m fine it’s just—this is getting so…”

“No one ever said love would be easy.”

He shook his head, annoyed, and she tried not to roll her eyes. She was joking, obviously, but it seemed like he wasn’t in the mood to have his spirits lifted.

“Okay. Mick Rory knows. Is he going to use your identity against us?”

“No it’s—he didn’t even ask my last name, or my job, or any of it. I don’t think he cares, not about that. I just… it messed everything up.”

“Like?” she pressed after a minute, when he didn’t follow it up with anything. His shoulders stiffened under her hand.

“Like—like…”

“It’s _okay_ , Barry.”

“Like now Len thinks I want Mick—or anyone! Like he has no idea how different he is and how—he was being an _ass_ and I just wanted to make things easier on him and it all got so much harder and he won’t talk about _any_ of this and he wants to fix the curse some other way and that’s not even possible and—” he bit it off, exhaling and most of his tension with him. He curled into Iris’s side and she relaxed, combing his hair back with her fingers to stop him from dragging his hands through it a thousand more times.

“And I don’t blame him,” he finished quietly, finally.

“He’s… processing a lot,” Iris half-agreed. They all were though, and Snart wasn’t talking to Barry and it was making things a thousand times worse. Was he even committed to fixing this, or was he going to bail if—“If he thinks _anyone_ …”

Barry shook his head into her side. “I don’t know. I tried to explain I didn’t actually _want_ Mick, I just thought he wanted me to want him.”

Iris wrinkled her nose. “But he can’t just—”

“He can, if he can’t stand this anymore. Leonard hates this, Iris. And I’m pretty sure he hates me now too.”

Her eyebrows went up, not that Barry could see them, because there was just no way that was true. “He doesn’t hate you, Barry.”

“He didn’t even deny it.”

She shook her head, wary but exhausted. “He doesn’t. Leonard Snart doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to, does he?”

His voice was small. “I don’t know anymore.”

“I do. So trust me.” He nodded against her chest and she combed her fingers once more through his hair. “Leonard… doesn’t hate you.”

 

[ … ]

 

It was less seedy than she’d remembered.

Not that she was paying much attention the last time she was here. It was evening that time, packed with unsavoury sorts and a variety of sounds and smells that spoke of disrepute.

But in the daylight, Saints and Sinners wasn’t as atrocious as it had seemed. The exterior was crafted to make it off-putting, but the wind whirled around her in the entryway before the wooden door snagged closed, and it was a halfway normal bar that greeted her on entry. Real wood, upholstered booths, and no more stains or scores than any other dive bar, really. The mismatched tables and chairs maybe would’ve been charming in another establishment.

But this wasn’t another establishment, and seediest bar in the city or not, she was still out of place at 11am on a weekday. Thankfully, there was only one table of patrons, and at it was the one person she’d come here to see.

Leonard’s eyes bored into hers and she mustered her best smile, heading over to his table. Mick Rory and Lisa Snart eyed her with varied levels of suspicion but she kept her focus on the man she came to see.

“Leonard.”

He didn’t blink, not for a minute, but his eyes narrowed while she stood at the edge of their table, and he tapped the coaster in his hand against the surface. After a minute, he finally spoke.

“Mick, Lisa – I’ll catch up with you later.”

She tried not to let her relief show. Mick grunted out something in frustration and brushed past her on his way. Lisa took her time, arching an eyebrow at Iris and she felt compelled to stare back until the other woman was behind her back and making her way toward the door.

Snart motioned to the booth opposite him. Iris sat. She opened her mouth but he beat her to it,

“Something to eat? Pickled eggs here are _fan-tastic_.”

She blinked. Pickled eggs, really? “Er, no. Maybe a coffee.”

“Only if you’re partial to rocket fuel. How about a vodka?”

“It’s not even _noon_.”

He tilted his own glass and she raised her eyebrows.

“Hair of the dog.”

“I’m driving.”

“And here I thought this would be an awkward conversation to have sober.”

She opened her mouth and closed it. “I’ll take my chances with a coffee.”

She expected him to look put out. Maybe he did, but still, it was in a mocking way, and under it he almost looked pleased too, sliding out of his seat to talk to the bartender, dropping a mug of tinny-smelling coffee in front of her with a dish of cream.

It was almost companionable for a second, quiet. He seemed content to let her gather her thoughts before starting. She’d had a plan, but it went out the window temporarily with the other Rogues and Snart’s strange, if not unwelcome, brand of hospitality. The coffee wasn’t good but she’d had worse. Actually, the stuff they made at the precinct was almost worse.

“So. Rory knows.” That wasn’t where she’d planned to start, and yet.

Leonard arched his eyebrow, made a tsk noise of acknowledgement. He was in a leather jacket, the same one he’d been in the first time she’d come to recruit him to this little mission that was Barry’s curse. She tried not to think about that.

“And Lisa too, I’m guessing?”

“Lisa…” he glanced toward a greasy window, too caked with dust or crud on the outside to actually see through, bars crisscrossed over it. “Doesn’t know his name. The rest of it, I haven’t managed to hide.”

She sighed and took another sip. “What happened last night?”

“Pretty sure Barry can fill you in.”

“I’m asking you.”

His expression turned sour. She expected him to tell her where to stick it. Instead, his gaze flicked to her and she’d forgotten, for a half-second, just how intense it could be. She felt it catch in her throat, just a little, the full force of it.

“What – _exactly_ – do you want to know, Iris?”

There it was, the hairs on the back of her neck raising. That little bit of threat that Leonard Snart exuded. She leaned forward.

“Everything.”

He smiled, a little unpleasantly. “You fixing to write an exposé?”

She tilted her head, not taking the bait. “You’re not planning to pawn Barry off to someone else?”

He narrowed his eyes. “ _No._ ”

It was something, at least. “But you’re still trying to find some other way to break the curse?”

That caught his attention. She could almost _see_ him switch tactics, his voice a little less deliberately frosty, “is that why you’re here? Heard you infiltrated our friendly neighborhood coven yourself.”

She rolled her eyes. “If by infiltrate you mean emailed their web moderator and got an invite. But no, I’m here because of Barry. He’s… struggling. And you and I”—she pointed between them—“need to find our way to the same page. Or the same book, at least.”

He tilted his head. “Don’t see the point. This situation has an expiration date, doesn’t it?”

Was that really true anymore? She wasn’t sure if she was ready to handle that question right now. “If it does, there’s still a fallout.”

“ _If_ , Iris? Nothing’s changed from before.”

“ _Everything’s_ changed!” She almost threw her hands up into the air but held in the urge and leaned forward instead. “The love of my life is about to _fall in love_ with you.”

“Don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Oh for the love of—you’re kidding, right? Barry cares about you—”

“Barry cares about _everyone_. Even strangers.”

She shot him an unimpressed look. “He cares about _you_ , Leonard. And he’s _going_ to fall in love with you, and I promise he doesn’t do that for ‘everyone’. Look, the problem is that he swaps between being sure you hate his guts and thinking he’s too in love with me to fall for you to—”

“Isn’t he?”

She stopped. She shouldn’t have said that. She needed to re-rail this conversation, took a sip of her coffee to take a second to re-orient. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Couldn’t it be?”

“I have loved Barry for a _long_ time. But that didn’t stop me from loving Eddie at the same time.”

He leaned forward and clasped his hands. “I’m not exactly Thawne-esque material. Or did you forget that I’m actually _raping_ Barry almost twice a week, not playing footsie with him?”

She flinched and regretted it. “That’s not how Barry describes it.”

“You ever think he’s not the most reliable narrator? What with his little curse ‘n all.”

He motioned to the bartender for a refill. Iris fortified herself against the doubt the was trickling in. “You think he doesn’t have the insight to be honest? About how it feels, or about—what, his feelings for you?”

He narrowed his eyes. She pressed her advantage.

“Because I know you don’t hate him—do you think he hates you? Underneath it all, _because_ of the curse? Or just that he can’t love you because of it? It’s not because of me—Barry’s heart is big enough to love us both.”

“Doesn’t mean he _will_ —”

“Why doubt it so much? Enough to make you try to weasel out of this strategy?”

“ _Weasel_?” He actually seemed angry for the first time, eyes flashing dangerously. “Thought _you_ at least might wanna find a proper solution with me.”

“What’d you hate so much about him falling for you? It’s not exactly _easy_ for him or me but at least we’re trying, and you’re—what could possibly be hurting you so much about Barry developing feelings for you?” She saw it there, in his eyes, the confirmation she didn’t want but needed and she let the words tumble out, “is it because you already lov—”

“Do you know that you’re off limits, Iris?” He snapped it out fast and she felt for a second like she had whiplash, trying to follow.

“I’m—what?”

“Off. Limits.”

She didn’t want to get derailed. How could she not? “What… does that mean?”

“It means you shouldn’t be here, talking to me.”

“No one decides what I do but me.”

“Correction,” he accepted his drink from the bartender as she brought it over, and held up a finger to stall Iris as he finished it in one go, “ _I_ shouldn’t be here, talking to you.”

She scoffed, “And how did that rule come about?”

“Like I said—ask Barry.”

He was standing up. She stood and grabbed his arm. “Like _I_ said—I’m asking you.”

She didn’t register until after she’d said it that her own heart was in her throat. The way he was suddenly still—she didn’t loosen her grip on his sleeve but Leonard, after flicking his gaze down to it then back up, took a step forward, into her space. She didn’t mean to step back but did, and he followed her. She was trapped between the back of the booth and his body, inches between them, and her stomach did a small somersault. Walk into the lion’s den and you might encounter a lion.

When did he get this tall? She’d forgotten, almost, that he was only an inch shorter than Barry. Even in her heels, she found herself leaning back to hold his gaze, small of her back pressing against the wood of the booth.

“Are you jealous, Iris? Is that why you’re here? Had to come and check up on me, make sure I toe the party line?”

She shivered, because he’d leaned in as he spoke and was now closer to her ear. His voice was low and dripped in danger and her grip on his arm had nothing to do with keeping him there anymore. Her grip on both his arms, now. The leather was soft under her fingers.

“You want to know _everything_ —how I touch him when we’re together?” His breath tickled her neck. She swallowed, wishing she could speak. It wasn’t fear keeping her quiet. She didn’t want to identify _what_ it was. She imagined she could feel his fingers trail against the skin just at the hem of her skirt but that had to be in her head. Right? “How desperate Barry sounds when I fuck him? How it feels when he sucks my cock? What part should I describe for you, Iris?”

She inhaled, feeling flushed. Fuck. Her stomach should not be tight. She should not be _wanting_ —

“Maybe just the parts he leaves out, hmm?” Leonard leaned close enough into her that their bodies were just barely grazing. She felt his nose against the shell of her ear and her hands flexed on his arms. “Or did you already know I can get him off even when’s he not caught in that fever?”

She actually gasped. Part of her brain whispered Barry’s words from the other night, giving her permission to do whatever she wanted to process—all of this. She angled her body almost unconsciously, she almost—

But Snart leaned back. It was as swift as he’d stepped forward, there then gone. She imagined she could feel a hand slide off her waist except it had never really been there, it was against the booth. He’d never really touched her at all. She shivered at the sudden cold, promising herself she didn’t miss the sensation anyway.

“Ask Barry why you’re off limits. I’m sure he’d love to tell you.”

He left, then, without so much as a goodbye while she sagged against the side of the booth. It took a minute to find her voice again. She sat and finished her coffee to steady her nerves, wished she’d ordered a proper damn drink, and tried not to think about the fact that Leonard Snart had just made her wet.

 

[ … ]

 

“Care to explain what that was about?”

“Not really,” Len snarked back at his sister, sliding into the passenger seat. Mick made a rumbling noise and leaned forward from the back.

“Seemed like she knew you.”

Len glanced to the side, catching Lisa’s carefully neutral expression before turning to look at Mick.

“You met her boyfriend last night.”

It took a second but clicked. Mick whistled slowly. Lisa started the car.

“So that’s the other woman.”

“ _I’m_ the other woman, remember?”

Lise let out a sound that was halfway to a laugh. “Well, I can see why you’re worried about the competition. But speaking _of_ , since we’re all in on what your little… situation is, now, me and Micky have been talking—”

“A dangerous pastime.”

She scowled at him but continued, “we had an idea.”

He stared carefully ahead, watching buildings slowly filter past. He’d been had. Lisa hadn’t called him that morning to discuss a job at all, and Mick hadn’t tagged along just to have a beer. Waiting till he was trapped in the car to have this conversation had to have been her idea too.

Mick got restless and started to say something but Lisa held up a hand and Len could see her side-eyeing him from the driver’s seat. He worked it through in his head, weighing shooting down whatever they were about to say. He didn’t have a good reason for doing that, none except that he…

He sighed. “Fine. What is it?”

Lisa was smart enough not to gloat about him caving, even if he could see the triumph in her shifted posture.

“We’re thinking we need a _witch_.”

“Did you miss the part where the witch who _did_ this to us can’t fix it?”

“Real life is _not_ a Disney movie. The witches you met just lacked the proper… motivation. You’d get a second opinion from a doctor, why not from a sorceress?”

He snorted. “The problem is the Flash and how his stupid head interprets things.”

Mick grumbled from the back, “should’a went with your plan and roasted him, Lise.”

Len arched his eyebrow at her. She didn’t look guilty. “If the problem is _him_ , then why don’t we find a witch who can help fix his head. That, or a shrink.”

He sighed. There was no way Lisa was going to drop it without trying, and he might as well let her hear it for herself. “If you want to get a second opinion, I hear the web mod at the witch cult is a good place to start.”

 

[ … ]

 

Iris stewed all day. Not that she wanted to admit it. She’d even gone home early from work, the article she was writing getting worse and not better as she tried to edit. It gave her time to try and make dinner, something to do with her hands, but cooking wasn’t… _exactly_ her forte. Whatever had possessed her to try and make quiche had been about as good of an idea as the rest of her day, but Barry didn’t complain about the disastrous attempt at a crust that was about as firm and flaky as ice cream.

“I honestly don’t know how you can eat that.”

“It’s not that bad! Just needed some more salt. And uh, it helps if you start it—”

“I know! I know. I read the instructions after.”

It would’ve been funny. It should’ve been funny. Barry was halfway to laughing but Iris was dragging a hand down her face, a gesture she knew she’d picked up from him, and she just felt so defeated.

“Iris?”

“I’m fine.”

She felt his hand on her arm a second later, his voice softer. “Hey it’s okay, it’s just… it’s not about dinner, is it?”

She shook her head and turned her arm to hold his hand instead, taking a steadying breath. “Do you—is Leonard a good kisser?”

Barry’s hand tensed. She stilled. Had that question really just come out of her mouth? She cringed inwardly but it—she wanted to know. Dammit, she wanted to know. Why?

“I—uh, guess so.” Barry cleared his throat and straightened back into his own space. He was sitting next to her but brought his arms back to himself, crossing them. “Why…?”

“Do you—are you attracted to him? Outside of the…?” She looked up finally, chancing a glance at his face. His handsome, perfect face. It had taken a literal curse—one that actually _forced_ him to feel a certain way—for him to consider infidelity. And she—

But he looked guilty, and suddenly couldn’t meet her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Barry it’s a good thing!” Her chest was already starting to loosen. “We hadn’t talked—I mean, you never really said—I knew you cared about him, even before all this. And obviously I know you’re bi, but I didn’t know if Leonard _in particular_ —I mean, how are you supposed to fall for someone if you’re not honestly attracted to them?”

She bit her lip. Something in that all felt dishonest. She needed to tell him—

“Me and Leonard, there’s always been… something. And that doesn’t change anything between you and me—”

“Of course not!”

“—but it’s not a… _chore._ The day I spent with him when we still thought I just needed to submit without the curse—”

“You said—you two didn’t, that day? Because you still had to yesterday, the cycle didn’t restart before?”

Barry shifted in his seat. She was surprised he started to flush. How long had it been since he’d looked that embarrassed around her? It was almost cute, how red his cheeks could get. Except she was starting to flush too, suddenly remembering what Leonard had said about getting Barry off outside the curse. That day, had he—

“We _almost_. And it was… yeah, I’m attracted to him. And he knows that. We even… talked about it.”

She nodded. Definitely that day. She tried not to picture it, something twisting in her gut when she did. “Okay. That’s good! That’s—so I saw him today.”

His head snapped up, suddenly more alert, “you what?”

“I wanted to touch base and—hey! I almost forgot, what the heck does it mean that I’m ‘off limits’?”

His eyes went wide. “He told you?”

She narrowed her own. “Barry.”

Now he was looking annoyed, and it had better not be directed at her. “He wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“What does it _mean_?”

He opened his mouth and closed it. A second and a flash of light later, he was over in the kitchen area, dishes set aside and cleaned. She rolled her eyes, moving to stand because she didn’t have a line of sight, but he was back already, leaning against the bookcase by the window.

“It’s not what you think.”

She wasn’t quite sure _what_ she thought, but she kept that to herself and waited.

“He—I don’t _like_ … talking about you with him when I’m fevered.” He was really agitated about this; she could see him move as if to drag a hand through his hair but abort the movement halfway through, worrying at this thumbnail still instead.

“Okay…” she prompted, because that explained approximately nothing.

“I say things I don’t… want to say.”

She felt the first stirrings of actual concern in her chest. “About how you’d rather… him over me?”

“What? No! Not—” he was looking at her at least now, his expression surprised then suddenly softer. “That. Never that. Kind of… the opposite, in a way?”

“You want me more than him?”

He looked incredibly consternated, like somehow she was being dense, bunching up his expression and looking at the ceiling for answers. “Both of you, Iris.”

“Isn’t that a… good thing? Like, the whole point?”

He actually did drag a hand over his face now—both of them, steepled for a second, long suffering. She was missing something and it must be obvious, except that it really wasn’t. “Both of _you_. Together.”

She opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say. Her heart was somewhere around the vicinity of her throat. And her abdomen. Simultaneously. “What—” her voice was hoarse and she cleared it, “what exactly do you, uh, _say_?”

Barry looked at her like he was actually suffering and it was almost comical because—she got out of her seat and into his space, putting a hand on his arm and giving it a squeeze.

“It’s okay, Barry. This is a no-judgment zone.” God she hoped it was a no-judgement zone. “This is—I mean I don’t blame you. Leonard is uhm… something. Apparently.”

Barry still looking like he swallowed a whole lemon but he tipped his face forward, leaning over enough to drop it on her shoulder, arms finding her waist.

“I just… don’t need to be saying those things. Least of all to him, y’know?”

She swallowed. “Does it—does he react badly?”

She could feel him tense, then shake his head. She blew out a breath, imagination running wild. “Does he react _well_?”

“Iris…”

God, she wanted to know. She shouldn’t want to know. What the hell did Barry _say_ , that he was so embarrassed? She stroked his back.

“Is that something you…”

“You’re off limits.”

She almost laughed. It was aggravating. “You know, I think I should get to decide if I’m off limits or not, shouldn’t I? Especially since Leonard seems to think him and I aren’t supposed to be talking because of it.”

“You’re…”

“Barry,” she leaned back, nonplussed, “you know you don’t get to tell me what to do? Or who talks to me?”

He winced. The ground underneath her feet felt steadier. “I wasn’t trying to make your choices for you. I just—you and him talking, or him mentioning that he talked to you, when I’m like that, and all I can do is think about…”

Her and him, together. It made her throat a little tight again. But there were more important things going on here. She stroked his arm this time, reassuring. “Why didn’t you just ask me to talk to you before I call him, B? If you aren’t comfortable with…”

He leaned back from her, resting against the bookcase again. “It’s for all the wrong reasons, Iris. And you’re right—I can’t make that choice for you.”

“Your comfort is a good reason.” She hesitated, looking to the side herself, now. “Okay, I mean—I don’t want to _stop_ talking to Leonard. I think it’s important for me and him, for all of us, to be on the same page.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I just,” he cricked his neck, standing straighter, “I’ll sort my head out about it. It’s not _really_ about talking or… whatever. I don’t get to decide if you want to talk to him, or if he wants… to talk to you.”

She bit her lip again. “Can I… help? With the… things you say? Or how you feel?”

He blushed again and she did too.

“I just mean—if you… want to say those things, whatever they are, you… can. If you and him… enjoy that.” Oh yeah, her cheeks were feeling hot now.

“I’ll… keep it in mind.”

She nodded. God, she wanted to say more. But what? Barry was so obviously dodgy about this, so obviously didn’t want to tell her exactly what the content of those things he said were. Said, or thought? Did he think about her with Leonard? Did she want him to?

“So! Uh,” Barry stepped back, “you talked to him today? How did it go?”

Her stomach tightened. “Not… great. He left without really wanting to have much of a conversation.”

It was a lame response. She sighed at the end of it, pulling at her hair. But Barry was nodding sagely, picking up the glass of wine he hadn’t finished from the table.

“That sounds like him. He’s really… not okay.”

She scrunched up her face, feeling guilty. “I didn’t… even ask him how he’s doing.” Not that it took much to guess.

“He probably would’ve left if you’d tried it.”

“He did that anyway.”

Barry laughed, and Iris eased back into her seat, sipping the white wine still left in her own glass. It was the only part of dinner that _hadn’t_ been a disaster. “Say… do we have any ice cream left? I feel like this conversation calls for dessert.”

 

[ … ]

 

It took the whole day to track the woman down properly, watching her movements, waiting to find a time when she was alone. But like most people, she didn’t have any real instinct for danger, and conveniently lived alone. The lock in her apartment was so easy to pick it was almost embarrassing. She didn’t even notice she had three unwanted houseguests until Len was right behind her, covering his footfalls with the sound of the TV she was watching, her back to the door.

“Seinfeld reruns. At least you’ve got decent taste.”

She jumped about a foot in the air with a quiet half-shout, the kind a person let out when a spider landed on their shoulder. Her phone was still on the coffee table and her eyes were wide as saucers. She started to pull in a breath, the telltale sign of an impending scream, but Lise already had her gun up.

“Don’t. We’re not here to make a scene if you’re not.”

The woman’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes darted to her phone. Len moved casually around the couch to pick it up, the woman stumbling a step back but he stopped and eyed her till she stopped moving. He pocketed the phone.

“Now, no reason to panic. Your name is… Fiona. Is that right?”

“What’d you want? I don’t have any money but whatever—take the TV, I don’t care, just don’t—”

“Shhh shhh shhh. No need to worry, Fiona. First home invasion? Scary, I know. But me ‘n my Rogues won’t hurt you.”

Behind him, Mick grunted. Len tilted his head to acknowledge the point.

“Won’t hurt _if_ you cooperate.”

The woman swallowed, eyes darting between them. “What…”

Lisa started moving around the small apartment, glancing at plants and books on the shelf. She pulled one off and started to leaf through it.

“We’re looking for a witch.”

Len watched the woman’s face turn suspicious. “You found me from the website.”

“Moderator at goddesscirce.com,” Len confirmed. “You really should get a VPN. Or maybe use an email address that’s not your real name. But never fear, my sister here just wants to ask you a few pesky questions about magic and we’ll be on our way.”

Fiona was more cooperative than anticipated.

Len told her about Kat and the curse, ready for her to roll her eyes and parrot off the same lines as Van Trost had. But Fiona had a ‘why didn’t you say so’ air as soon as Kat’s name came up, mixed with what he recognized all too well as a desire to be important. She definitely liked chiding them, playing boss, and he grit his teeth but pushed on anyway, exchanging a glance with Lisa behind her back while she rolled her eyes at him.

“So _can_ it be cured without true love and all that?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Len stood up straighter, eyes narrow.

Mick had gone to get beer and come back, bored of the back and forth, Seinfeld reruns still on TV, heels kicked up on the coffee table. But even he hit mute and glanced around the back of the couch.

“How?” Lisa asked before he could bite anything off.

“Like you said,” Fiona nodded at her, “if the problem is this individual’s unique Interpretation of his curse, why don’t we just change that Interpretation?”

Len tensed, but Fiona nodded to herself like that was settled and moved to Lisa to snatch the book she was still holding from her hands. “All we need is a potion.”

Lisa looked smug. Len wanted to protest but didn’t have any grounds for it. Fiona set about pulling out ingredients and Mick turned the volume back up.

Fiona’s stove was a gas range and she set a copper pot on the flame and started mixing. If Len had to guess what potion-making looked like, it wouldn’t have been this, really, but he almost laughed to himself because—why not? Cauldrons over open flames in the moonlight were really that different from pots on the stove. He wondered if modern potion books read like Martha Stewart’s recipes.

Mostly, without objecting, he tried to keep track of everything Fiona was putting into the blend. Nothing _seemed_ poisonous, and she didn’t mind telling him what everything was. It had copious volumes of crushed chilies, some clove, some petals from something called a zinnia, some almond milk from fresh crushed and strained almonds. There were a few other things that seemed innocuous, though he was a little skeptical when she started burning some purple flowers called vervain over it and mixed in the ashes.

“A cure for unrequited love. If he’s cursed to love, this should get him to let that go. Then he can just submit properly and be free. Chilis should help with hex breaking, and the rest is to minimize the spell’s cruel Intent.”

He glanced over at his sister, behind the back of the witch who was, by her own explanation, imbuing the potion with magic with every turn of the ladle stirring.

“’N if it was this easy, why exactly didn’t your pals give us this solution sooner?”

Fiona sniffed, turning the burner off. “Most people underestimate the power of a good potion, I’m sorry to say. Not everyone knows them as well as I do.”

“I dunno…” he hedged, “Kat took out the Flash. Seems she knows _something_.”

“ _Kat_ ,” she spat out the word with even venom that Len blinked and Lise stood up a little straighter, “is a little—well, I’d never speak _ill_ of a sister, but she doesn’t have the _experience_ or knowledge that I do. She might have some defensive parlour tricks up her sleeve, a little flash of fire or ice, some mind game spellwork, she might even have—but you know what, she doesn’t know everything, and that’s the point here.”

Len nodded slowly. “Right. And your High Priestess?”

“Well,” the woman mollified, putting most of her mix into a mason jar. “The High Priestess is _exceptionally_ skilled. I’m sure she knows the value of potions. But her skills lie elsewhere, of course. Matters of love and the heart are the type of things people might come to a green witch like myself to solve. With the Priestess, it would be more… ichor from an Old God to cast a demon back to the gates of hell.”

She delivered the statement like they were talking about the weather. Len opened his mouth and found he had nothing to say to that, so he took the jar.

“After all, we all have to specialize,” the woman continued, looking pleased at the lack of argument. “I’m sure she would be happy to know I’ve helped clean up _another_ one of Kat’s messes, after all.”

“Well let’s keep this one between us until it works out, hm?” He shook the jar, then stopped and looked at it because he would’ve sworn the mixture had been a reddish brown before but now it looked like milky lavender. He wasn’t sure why he felt skeptical of magic when he was literally part of a curse, but seeing it in action was still… something.

“So all he has to do is get his cursed…friend to have a taste?” Lisa moved over and leaned close to look at the swirling liquid in the sealed jar.

“The full thing, if you can convince him.”

Thankfully, that was the one part of this hair-brained plan Len wasn’t worried about. After all, if he wanted to, he could convince Barry of anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /(⊙0⊙)\ well that’s an… interesting choice, Rogues. 
> 
> There’s lots I could say here about the chapter, but I think I’ll let it stand on its own for now, and instead talk for a sec about why it took so friggen long to put out for you guys. 
> 
> Part of that is the transition of moving, of graduating and starting a new job, of settling in, and how the state of mind that we’re in changes with our setting, so what we write and want to write about change too. Part of it is my head being up in OC land with original ideas that part of me is itching to write.
> 
> But the bigger part, I think, is just writer’s block. Which came about mostly because I was (am?) so up in my head about this fic. See – it started out as an excuse for writing smut (most of my fics do) but then I started to wanted it to be, like, good? And once you start to overthink your creative works, you can get paralyzed really easily. 
> 
> Because I have the way this story goes in my head all well-mapped out, but I also care a lot about narrative pacing, and I’m aware that the way it plays out in my head currently isn’t paced the way a story… I don’t want to say “should” be, but it builds weird, and might not be as satisfying because of it. So I’ve been trying to re-jig it but it’s determined to mostly stay the same, even if I’ve mentally added some pieces thanks to these mental turn arounds I’ve been doing. And I’m at the point (thankfully) where it’s kind of like “fuck it”. A story needs to write itself, however it ends up.
> 
> And I guess… I love Iris so much. And I’ve always loved writing her, regardless of where and how she fits into a given story. But I know some people, even ones reading this story, don’t especially like her, and I’ve felt some internal pressure to try to write her in a way that always displays her in the best light. But if you know my works, you know that I also try not to shy away from writing people as the messy, flawed beings that we are. And trying to negotiate writing Iris in a way that people won’t hate on her while still letting her be human has been… frustrating. So, uh, I’m throwing in the towel on that one. And much happier for it. If you dislike Iris (in canon or how I write her), I honestly don’t really care. I’m gonna let her be human.
> 
> (PS – one note about the actual chapter: I re-wrote the opening scene between Len and Mick a few times. One version actually had a fist-fight between Mick and Len? Which I kind of miss but eh, this is the version that made the most sense.)


	12. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Potential trigger warning:** this chapter brushes more into the territory of sexual assault than the previous ones, in a somewhat different way (but don’t despair?). If this is gonna be an issue, ~~I'll make a tumblr post tomorrow night and link it here~~ [here's a link with details about where to stop reading and where to jump back in.](http://coldtomyflash.tumblr.com/post/179269745882/coldtomyflash-coldtomyflash-coldtomyflash)

_Today_?

Barry was surprised but not about to complain that Len texted him first on Day 4. He’d been trying to give the other man his space after their last argument, trying _not_ to think about the fact that he and Iris talked, trying not to think about that fact specifically when he was _with_ Iris, trying not to imagine Len there with them and—

He dragged a hand down his face. He almost wished he’d never had that conversation with her. Now all he could think about was telling her his fantasies, telling Len his fantasies, having both of them _act out_ his fantasies, as if that was ever going to happen. He felt guilty enough just thinking about the two of them together, knowing Iris had already been dragged way too far into this, that there was no way she’d ever think of Len that way, that she was blushing just giving him _permission_ to stoke those flames with Len because she was that kind. And he had no goddamn right to be telling Len things like how—jesus, how good she tasted. That he wanted Len to taste. God, he wanted Len to—

Barry zipped to the bathroom to splash water on his face and the back of his neck. He wasn’t going to miss this fever.

_I’m game if you are. Same place?_

_Come by after 9:30_

_See you later_

It gave him time to have dinner at Joe’s house, to catch up with Wally and ask him about his capstone project. Time to chat with Joe as they both carefully sidestepped talking about Leonard. Time to pop by STAR labs and let Caitlin take his vitals after he did a quick survey of the city and stopped a car chase in progress, two muggings, and one attempted robbery. It gave him an extra few minutes to speed home and kiss Iris before heading over, which might’ve been a bad idea for where it put his head, all wrapped up in Iris and Len together, him between them, them both taking turns just—

He broke off the kiss.

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Yeah, Barr. See you later.”

He almost said something, then. Almost asked for confirmation that he had permission—for what, he wasn’t sure. For thinking those things, for using them to seduce Snart, for the fact that like it or not, telling Len about Iris was like—like—

He was at the door to the safehouse, wind still settling around him as he sped to a halt. He rapped three times, knowing Len liked it when he knocked before coming in. The man answered and Barry’s throat went dry. Did he have any idea how good he looked in casual clothes? A worn-thin Henley that showed just a little bit of his chest, dark jeans, laced up boots because he was still weird and still _him_. Barry wondered for a brief second if he’d been working on one of his cars again, leaned into him to see if he could catch a whiff of metal or motor oil.

“Why d’you insist on wearing that suit?”

“Do you not like it?” Barry leaned back enough to ask, trying to catch his eye even as Len closed the door behind him.

“Never mind. Just—cuffs.”

Barry held back a whine, wanting to kiss Len before he was restricted. But Len liked him good and bound, and he held onto that, already feeling himself start to get hard. His suit’s top was off a second later and he scooped the cuffs out of Len’s outstretched hand, cinching them onto his wrists. It could be such a frustration, how they separated his wrists with that hard bar and made it so hard to touch. He tried to gather Len’s shirt in his grasp, to pull him in, but Len held him by both arms. At least it was skin on skin.

“Barry.”

He leaned in and breathed in Len’s scent, face in his neck. “Len. Want you.”

“Let’s just… get this over with.”

Barry hummed, hands reaching down to massage him outside his jeans. He felt a thrill up his spine when Len let go of his arms and reached around him, trailing his fingers up and down his back while Barry worked at his belt. It felt divine when he could feel Len’s breath against his neck, the man not putting up a front or keeping it cold. He’d just managed to get his hand inside Len’s pants, cupping him when,

“Wait.” He grabbed Barry’s forearm. “I need—”

Barry’s brain felt like it was gonna combust waiting, but he’d give anything for,

“Lenny?”

The man inhaled. Barry leaned back, almost bouncing on his heels, trying to catch his eye. Leonard dropped his arm and Barry bit his lip, eyelids feeling almost heavy he wanted him so bad, but he was waiting and Len was pulling back.

“Give me a minute.”

It hurt, a little.

“I need—”

“You need to wait a goddamn second, Barry.”

He snapped his mouth closed. He’d wait for Len’s orders. He’d do whatever it took to help him find that moment of calm he’d had a minute ago, to wipe that agitation off his face. Anything to make him feel good.

After a second of looking at him, Len turned and dragged a hand over his shorn hair.  “Just… bedroom.”

He made a noise of assent, heading over without complaint. He shuddered, looking at the bed, but turned to look at Len, feeling lost.

“How can I make you feel good? I just wanna… god I wanna—” he cut himself off. Len didn’t want to hear that, he knew. He could see it in the tension on his body and Barry desperately wanted to touch him, to fix it, to rub his shoulders and kiss his neck and do anything to make him feel better than he did. But he swallowed back all those suggestions and waited for Len to stop staring over at the bedside table, gathering his thoughts.

“You can separate, right? How you feel in the curse, and how you feel outside of it?”

Barry actually groaned, but it was with effort. Len wanted him to think through the fever. But the fever made him feel…amazing. Made everything amazing. He dropped back onto the bed, hands pulling at his hair to try and concentrate. It helped a little. “Yeah,” he panted after a moment. “Anything… anything you want to know.”

It was hard to stay focused. He just wanted Len to climb on the bed with him, over him, to get between Barry’s spread legs and—

“If there were some other way… if you could fix this curse without falling in—without _that_ , would you take it?”

Barry shot up.

“Please—please don’t—”

“It’s just—” Len exhaled through gritted teeth and Barry realized he’d moved to the ground, to his knees automatically. He could never tell if Len loved or hated it when he implored but it was hard not to beg, fingers twisting into the man’s sweater—“just a _question_ , Barry. I won’t leave you like this. Just tell me—the _honest_ answer.”

Honest. He swallowed. There was the answer he knew Len wanted: that Barry would do anything for him. It was only what Len wanted if it was real though, real outside the curse. He could feel sweat trickling down his back, heat adding cotton to his brain. He pressed his forehead against Len’s middle, willing himself to focus.

“I wouldn’t—” he licked his lips. “Hurt anyone.” Who knew what Len would ask of him? But he knew that in or outside of the fever, he’d never take an option that made him do that. Not over loving Len. “And I wouldn’t do it if it hurt you, or Iris.”

He looked up at the other man. But he had his eyes closed, face tight. His hand was on Barry’s shoulder and it squeezed for a second before he stepped back.

“Len—”

“So you’d take it. So long as no one gets hurt.”

Barry shuddered, feeling forlorn. “I know that’s what you want.” Wasn’t it? To be rid of Barry and his nuisance curse. “’m sorry I can’t give you that.”

Len shook his head, stalking past him to the nightstand. Barry tried to turn but Len was already moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He set something down beside him.

“Come here.”

Barry did, instinctually moving between his legs but Len caught him by the chin. “Not that. Thing is—it’s possible I’ve been…” he looked like he was casting about for the right words, and Barry delighted in the feel of his hand on his chin, every bit of skin contact. This position made his belly feel warm. But Len kept talking, “…dragging this out. It came to my attention, recently. The more clinical I make this, the harder it is to get it all over with. And that wasn’t my _plan_ —”

“That’s _genius_ ,” he breathed, stomach swooping in delight. He hadn’t even _considered_ —he shifted, getting a little higher on his knees. “Lenny that’s—you’re make it harder for me to fall. Keeping me here.”

“I said it _wasn’t_ the plan. If some twisted vindictive part of me wants to keep this charade—”

“You could.” His cuffed hands were up Len’s shirt now, aching to feel his skin. “You could make me blow you every few days so I’d never be able to submit for real. Rob every bank in the city and make me help and I’d never forgive you—” His cock was aching between his legs and he knew, some dim and distant part of him knew this was the curse. The effort of separating helped him feel it now but if Len wanted, if Len _could_ keep Barry by his side forever—“Be bad enough that I stay yours, Lenny.”

Barry shuddered under the sudden hands on his shoulders, pushing him back hard enough he landed on his ass. Len was on his feet and breathing heavy staring down at him.

“That’s not love, Barry. It’s a nightmare.”

His chest constricted. He tried to separate—tried to focus, felt hot and sad in conflicting measures. “I know you—it’s not right but don’t you want to keep me?”

There was a beat. Then Leonard stood up. “I can’t do this. _Don’t_ argue, just—fuck, just drink this, okay?” He grabbed the thing off the bed, a jar with a milky purple liquid. He opened it too fast and some trailed over his fingers and Barry was already up on his knees licking at the drops, any excuse to taste Len’s skin, to make him happier.

“Anything you want.”

The cuffs made it hard to take the jar, so Len slid his hand into Barry’s hair along the side of his head. He almost moaned it felt so good, the relief of having Len touch him, the spot of cool against the heat. And Len held his head steady and tipped the jar to spill the thick liquid down his throat. Barry gazed up at the other man, eyelids feeling lidded, cock aching between his legs again now, just from swallowing around whatever Len would give him.

And he did. He swallowed every last drop.

 

[ … ]

 

For a moment, nothing happened. Len stayed there breathing heavy, watching the last bob of Barry’s adam’s apple around the liquid. There was a beat and then Barry leaned his head against Len’s thigh, letting out a shudder.

“Len…”

He narrowed his eyes, not sure what to expect.

“What…what was that?” He was breathing almost raggedly.

“A potion. Still hot?”

“I…”

That wasn’t a no, or a yes. He was starting to have second thoughts about this brew.

“Uncuff me?”

It wasn’t his submissive voice, but didn’t sound quite normal either. Worst case scenario, if he _had_ just drank some poison, his healing should take care of it once those cuffs were off. Len fished out the key from his pocket and pressed it to Barry’s palm.

The cuffs clattered to the floor. Barry didn’t move.

“Barry?”

The man shuddered, “I need… fuck, I need you so bad.”

Len’s eyebrows shot up. “Not cured, then?”

Barry tilted his head up and Len did a double take. His pupils, blown to shit, had a new color in them, a new iris. It was the same purple as the liquid he’d just drank down. Len’s stomach sank. What had he just forced Barry to swallow?

“I’m so hot it’s _burning_ how do I even—I can’t—”

Barry was up in a blink, his mouth on Len’s before he could register the sensation, hands holding his head in place. Len instinctually moved back but couldn’t break away, Barry’s tongue invading his mouth. His heart hammered in his chest, arms pressing between him and Barry, throwing him off hard.

“Barry what the _hell_ —”

Barry grinned and was there again, before he could blink, just a flash of light and he had Len’s wrists in his hands, had him on his back on the bed, straddling his hips.

“Come on, Len,” it wasn’t whined, or soft, and he nipped Len’s lip, “need to feel you.”

“You’re not _supposed_ to need it—”

Not after that drink but fuck, what choice did they even have? If Barry was still cursed—

“I do, ‘m burning up.” He kissed down Len’s neck, mouthing at it and his hands had already moved on to Len’s sides, pressed to his skin. He tried to move away but it was instinctual, dumb and he grabbed Barry’s biceps. They felt like fucking steel.

“ _Barry—_ ”

Barry moaned and his hands reached behind and down, grabbing Len’s ass. His mouth was trailing hot kisses down his front, shirt rucked up.

“What the hell happened to submission?” He snapped, twisted his fingers into Barry’s hair and jerked his head up to look at Len. He was panting, looking fevered still, as much as ever.

“I’m taking what I _need_ , Leonard. I promise it won’t hurt.”

That dumb fucking witch and her dumb fucking potion—

Barry’s tongue was in his bellybutton. His fingers were massaging Len’s skin. Len’s cock was starting to get hard.

“ _Hey_ —Barry _wait_ —”

He growled, leaned back and his eyes flashed. He didn’t look present. Len’s heart almost stopped. It dissolved in a second into something else, abject desire. “I feel like—” He was there again, kissing Len deep, tongue invading his mouth. “Like fire, Snart. Like I’m on fire, I need it.” He rocked his hips down but Len couldn’t, was shaking his head, trying to push him away again, out of the relentless grind. It was hopeless. Barry grabbed his arm faster than he could register, all he could feel was that it was behind his back, tight and twisted and he was arching up into the other man.

His heart was in his throat. _Fuck_ fuck fu—

“No just—stop—BARRY _STOP!_ ”

It happened so fast that for a second he thought it was in his head. Then his body felt the lack of weight on it, the cold air and empty space. He surged up into a sitting position, hand on his chest, eyes landing on Barry in the corner. The other man was shaking.

“Len—” his voice cracked. There were actual tears starting to stream down his face. “Len I’m _so_ so—”

“Get out.”

“I—”

“ _Get. OUT_.”

There was a flash of lightning and he was gone.

 

[ … ]

 

Wind whipped into the room, a bright-as-ever flash and Iris blinked around her bite of cake—self-pity cake, no less, double chocolate—confused because why was Barry already back?

Except he looked—

“Barry?”

She was already halfway to standing by the time she realized it. He was stopped in their living room, breathing heavy in a way that couldn’t have been from running, cowl down and tears in his eyes and—

He shook his head, back of his hand going to his mouth and she could tell he was trying to hold himself together but that wouldn’t do. She moved into his space and paused when he seemed almost spooked, taking a half step back before letting out a breath.

“Did Leonard—”

“It was _me_ , Iris. I almost—I hurt him. I—”

He dodged her attempts to catch his gaze, dragging his hands both through his hair. “You what, B?”

“I didn’t even think, I just got so _hot_ and almost—I just didn’t _care_ , how could I not care, not even a _little_ —”

She cupped his cheek, holding it there with a just enough force to ground him in the present. “You need to talk to me, tell me what—is wrong with your _eyes_?”

“My eyes?”

“They’re _purple_.”

Barry disappeared from in front of her but she heard his voice from the bathroom,

“What… did he make me drink?”

The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. She moved fast toward the bathroom, Barry staring at his reflection, hands gripping the edge of the sink. There were tear tracks down his cheeks and his hair was a mess but the hue of his eyes hadn’t changed.

“Tell me what happened.”

He swallowed, then moved to hug her, folded himself around her and he was shaking. She stroked his back and let him sort out his breathing for a minute before he finally nodded, and quietly explained, holding tight to her when he did, like he was afraid to let go.

Her blood was ready to boil.

“I didn’t see—I didn’t _notice_. It feels so _obvious_ now—how could I not notice?”

“Not notice what?”

“That he was scared of me.”

“What matters is that you _stopped_ , Barry. As soon as you realized.”

“It _hurt_ ,” he whispered quietly next to her ear, soft like a confession. “When he made me drink it. It felt like… it felt _lonely._ I can’t even describe it. As lonely as I’ve ever felt. It felt like… grief. And then I just…”

“Stopped being yourself.”

He shook his head. “It was still _me_ , I was—I almost did that to him.”

“You would _never_ hurt someone like that Barry.”

“I almost did.”

She pulled back and looked him in the eye, not letting him look away. “Barry. You are _not_ a rapist.”

He swallowed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him look so miserable. No, she could. The last time he’d looked so awful was right before he’d raced Zoom to save her father’s life. How _dare_ Leonard Snart put that same expression on his face.

“Iris… what do I…”

She stepped back, gathering, refocusing. “First, we go to STAR labs and find out what Caitlin and Cisco have to say. And _yes_ , Barry, we’re going to tell them the truth about how it turned you inside out because that’s _not you_. And then—”

Then she was going to find Leonard Snart and give him three pieces of her mind.

“Then we’ll go from there.”

 

[ … ]

 

_Get Mick and get that witch and bring her to our place on Elroy._

_The potion didn’t work?_

_Just do it._

 

[ … ]

 

“I’ve run every test I can think of. Barry’s vitals are all the same as ever on a Day 4. Maybe slightly elevated but I think that’s just because he’s so tense.”

He wanted to deny it but couldn’t. Instead he dug his hands into the medical bed he was sitting on, legs dangling over the side.

“And my eyes?”

“That… I don’t know. Cisco, any luck finding Kat?”

“Homegirl probably doesn’t keep her ringer on at 1 in the morning. I’ll head over to her place.”

“I can do it,” Iris interjected, glancing his way. Barry bit his tongue on asking her to stay.

“I’ll drive?” Cisco offered and Iris acquiesced. Barry caught her hand as she moved to go.

“Be careful.”

She gave him a slow, thoughtful look. “Of course.”

 

[ … ]

 

“That’s one safe house and three bars, Iris. I don’t think we’re gonna find him tonight.”

She let out a scathing noise, glaring at her phone. It had gone straight to voicemail three times. She’d actually left a message the final time. _I know you probably don’t want to talk about what happened and honestly—look, we need to know what he drank so we can fix him. That’s all I’m asking. Call me._

“I can’t _believe_ he just drugged Barry without a second thought.”

“I can’t believe he probably thought it would _work_ ,” Cisco added, slipping back into the driver’s seat. She followed him into the car. “I knew Captain Cold was stubborn, but I at least thought he was smart.”

Iris chewed her thumbnail, a bad habit of Barry’s she’d picked up at some point. “He is smart. He’s just… desperate. Desperate people put their faith in all the wrong places.”

“Sympathy for the devil?”

She hummed, watching the lights of the empty city roll by as they finally wended their way toward Kat’s apartment.

“Do you think… do you think he’s gone for good?”

He was quiet for a minute. They were pulled up to a red light at an intersection devoid of any other cars than their own, stopped for no real reason except the shade of the light suggested false calamity if they didn’t.

“I think that Leonard Snart… plays by his own rules. But if he says he’s gonna do something, he does. And sometimes that’s good, and means he’ll honor his word if he’s got you kidnapped and says he’ll let you and your brother go free in exchange for information. And sometimes he twists it around, like sabotaging your transport ‘n freeing the metahumans you’re bussing, but then he protects you from them like he said he would. He does what he promises, but…”

“But that doesn’t mean you can trust how he’ll get it done.” She sat back, stopped chewing at her nail. The light turned green.

 

[ … ]

 

“His eyes are purple.”

“Aubergine or magenta?” Van Trost’s voice came over the speaker phone.

Kat squinted at his eyes. It was three in the morning before they got a hold of Van Trost and her apprentice looked beyond annoyed at being there and being awake. “Like… lighter purple. Lilac-y?”

“Lavender?”

“Sure.”

“A potion with lavender… for healing and purification, or for love? You’ll need to track down the potion maker and find out what else it was blended with.”

Kat frowned and Barry was pretty sure his expression mimicked hers. “That could be any witch in the city.”

“Start with the most powerful potion-makers and work your way down the list. Tell Fiona you need her help, her specialty is green witchery and potions; she should know who they are.”

“Fiona?” Iris asked, “as in the one I met? The web-moderator?”

Barry looked at her, wondering why she was wincing.

“That’s her,” Kat said easily.

Iris swore quietly before putting on what Barry recognized as her brave-yet-done-with-this-shit face. “Something tells me we won’t have to look far for the right potion-maker.”

 

[ … ]

 

The witch was about as useless as they came. And that was saying something, since Len had worked with the likes of Rutenberg before.

“Just gimme five minutes—”

“You’re _not_ torturing her, Mick. Doesn’t work, remember?”

“Says your books.”

“Says _experience_. Or did the last time you took a beating loosen your tongue, or anyone else’s?”

He grumbled out something that sounded plenty insubordinate. Lisa rolled her shoulders, glancing down the hall to the room they had their useless witch tied up in.

“So we find a friend of hers and apply some leverage.”

Len snorted. “You’re both missing the point. She’s willing to talk, she has nothing to _say_.”

“She _says_ she didn’t sabotage your potion too, and obviously that’s a lie.”

He shrugged, eyes on their victim still. “Curse’s tricky. Might not be her fault.”

“Why else would it fail?”

“Backfire.”

“Fail, backfire, whatever.” Lisa pouted a little. Len hadn’t told her and Mick _what_ had happened, only that it had all gone to shit. He didn’t bother to correct her again.

“You want me to get rid of her, boss?” Mick sounded impatient. Len put on one of his more unhurried drawls, voice cold when he responded.

“Lemme’ take another stab at her.” He cricked his neck and walked down the hall to the room with their victim. He pulled out the gag from her mouth and she was, understandably, a little terrified. “C’n I get you anything? Water? Beer? Bathroom break?”

“Just let me go. Please.”

He hummed, moving to lean against a table across from her, crossing his arms. “You say you’ve got ‘no idea’ why your potion backfired.”

“I don’t!”

“And no idea how to _fix_ it—”

“None!”

“And _that’s_ just not gonna cut it for me.”

She was pale as a sheet. He pursed his lips. Lise and Mick were still down the hall. He stepped closer to the witch, kneeling to one knee.

“D’you wanna know what happened when he drank your little brew, Fiona? Hm?” He voice dropped low and cool, a hint of his anger coming out. “The _afflicted_ party tried to—”

His phone buzzed again in his pocket. He cut off with a quietly scathing noise, pulling it out to silence it. Except this time it was a number he didn’t recognize. Iris calling from a friend’s phone, perhaps?

“That’s Kat’s number.”

Len flicked his eyes back to Fiona, who—despite everything about her predicament—somehow managed to look annoyed.

“Are you working with her too? If you combined my potion with magic you didn’t tell me about—”

“Shut up.”

He stood and answered the phone.

“Morning.”

“Captain Cold?”

“Who wants to know?”

He raised a finger to hold off whatever Fiona was about to interject. She glared at him.

“This is Kat. The uh, the witch.”

“I recall.”

“Uhm. Are you… with Fiona?”

He raised his eyebrows. “’n what gave you that idea?”

“It’s just—she’s not at her apartment. And Iris said you won’t answer your phone and Cisco said you probably kidnapped her when the potion interacted badly with the curse, and… yeah.”

“How did you get this number?”

“Cisco let me look at your STAR Labs file, for uh… ‘clues’, I guess.”

He blinked. His number was in their files? They _had_ a file? That felt… he could deal with that another day. “What’d’you want, Kat?”

“Is Fiona with you?”

“And if she is?”

“Can you put her on?”

Len paused, but what harm could it do. Lisa and Mick were coming down the hall to listen, noticing the interruption. Len put Kat on speaker.

“Katherine, I hardly need your assistance—”

Len snorted but Kat was already interrupting,

“Assistance? Why would you need—we need _your_ help, Fifi.”

Fifi? Really?

“Of course you do.”

Len exchanged a look with Mick and Lisa.

“The High Priestess needs to know what you put in that potion, to know how to fix the mess you made.”

“Mess _I_ made? I have been cleaning up after _your_ messes since you strolled into town—”

“Oh my _gawd_ , can you cool it for like, two seconds? You’re literally the one feeding potions to a curse victim.”

“ _Your_ curse victim.”

“So not the point.”

“Ladies,” Len cut in. Fiona looked like he’d ruffled her feathers, but at least she snapped off a list of ingredients. Len could’ve told her that, having made sure he got the gist of the damn thing as it was made. He felt a little twist in his stomach for the first time at not having answered any of the calls sooner than this.  

“It was to cure unrequited love, something that _you_ cursed this individual with.”

“Uh, I definitely didn’t curse him with that. But okay, I’ll talk to the Priestess and I guess I’ll uh, call you later or whatever.”

Len hummed. His eyes flicked to Lise and Mick and he resisted, though it came close, from asking how Barry was doing before hanging up.

 

[ … ]

 

Barry was not doing great.

Iris was getting sick to her stomach worrying. It was afternoon on a day five, and she knew that meant he was slowly eroding to only thinking about sex and Leonard. She bit her lip, pacing in the cortex. Neither of them had even considered going in to work that day. Barry had gone for a run as the Flash, trying to keep himself focused, but had turned fast toward the lab when he said that all he could do was thinking about finding Leonard.

“I don’t know what I’ll do when I see him.”

Iris nodded, wishing she had an answer for him. “You _won’t_ hurt him.”

“What if…”

“You won’t.”

He nodded. Cisco tapped the console.

“All else fails, we can go back to stage 1 tactics.”

“Stage 1?”

“Cuff Barry and drop him in the pipeline.”

Iris almost recoiled, but Barry perked up.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“I _hated_ seeing you in there the first time,” Iris argued.

“If I’m a danger to Snart…”

Iris looked to Caitlin for support, since Kat was out, apparently trying to rustle up a lead who might be able to help. The other woman wrung her hands.

“Your thoughts about him… are they different than normal?”

He shook his head, then paused, blew out a breath and nodded instead.

“How?” She was already reaching for a notebook.

“It’s like…” Barry paced again, hands to his temples. She knew he was trying hard to focus, cheeks a constant rosy flush now. “All the things I wanna to do him, all the—it’s all still there. I still want him, so bad I could just—it’s all still sex, all just…” he kept cutting himself off and finally, visibly reined something in, looking up at the ceiling and dragging a hand over his face. “But it’s like the… submission is gone.”

Iris blinked. Caitlin and Cisco exchanged a look.

“Maybe we should consider the cuffs,” Caitlin amneded. Traiter. Iris glared at her and she rushed to continue, “but the pipeline shouldn’t be necessary, because the cuffs work so well!”

Barry looked forlorn. Iris shook her head. She wasn’t letting Barry stand here and sweat. That was at least one thing here she could help with, at least a little. “Let’s head home. If we’re handcuffing you anywhere, at least you can feel comfortable about it.”

 

[ … ]

 

Kat came to see him. She even came alone, as promised. The girl was quickly growing on him. She was about Axel’s age, and he was starting to consider recruitment. Once all this shit blew over, of course. But getting her away from that cult and putting her skills to _real_ use might be adding itself to his agenda.

Another day, of course. Right now, he had other issues.

“Come again?”

“To get rid of the potion, you have to cure Barry’s unrequited love.”

Len paused to exhale out his frustration, not the least of which was because Kat was still green enough that she’d spilled the Flash’s name to Lisa. At least he’d let Fiona go already, but he refused to look behind him at his sister’s smug face.

“I don’t follow.”

“That’s his Interpretation. And when he’s in the curse, he’s like—basically there, I guess? Feels like he’s in pretty much love with you but that love’s all based in submission, yeah? Except the potion’s whole schtick was about curing unrequited love, and it’s _potent_ because it’s Fiona’s, and she put the works into it for you. So the Priestess thinks it’s _doing_ its job of fixing the love feelings, except it can’t come close to touching the curse itself.”

She looked ever so slightly smug about that last part. Len narrowed his eyes.

“So you’re saying… the way he’s acting, he kept the fever and dropped the… feelings, that come with it.”

“All fire, no love.”

“Doesn’t he _need_ to submit to me?”

“Definitely.”

“So if he doesn’t…”

“Oh he’ll still die. For sure.”

Len shifted his pose with a sigh. He needed a fucking nap. “How can he submit without any submission?”

“Doi. That’s what I’m saying.”

“One more time—the potion was supposed to cure his unrequited love, and it did…so now _I_ need to cure his unrequited love.”

“Right. Okay. I see how that’s confusing. Um. It’s like this—the potion takes away the feeling of unrequited love from him? Because you don’t love him back, or whatever, so it cures that. But the fever feeds into that love feeling, because his Interpretation of the curse. So it’s like he’s got this heat, and it creates a need to submit, which to him means love and sex, but now there’s no love, so it’s all just sex?”

“So if I fuck him…”

“Yeah, uh,” she blushed, “you should still do that. Make him, um, submit.”

Lisa snorted in the background and Len could really do without her non-verbal commentary here.

“Will it cure the potion’s effects?”

He could do it, if it would. Find a way to hold Barry down, not that he wanted to do it like that. But if Barry needed to submit, and couldn’t feel that submission from his own end… Even thinking it was turning his stomach a little.

“No no—that’s just triage. Like it’ll keep him alive, but the potion and the curse are still gonna work at odds.”

He was getting a headache. “How do I cure the potion? His unrequited love.”

She wrinkled her nose. “About that… I mean, one way is to make him just, not love you anymore. Obvy, curse won’t let him. It feeds into it, so that’s just… a waste of time. The other would be to totally change his Interpretation, but like, not easy and that would fix the entire curse and just probably never gonna happen, that’s deep stuff.”

“I’m not seeing a solution here.”

“Well—the easy one is to convince him you love him.”

Mick actually barked out a laugh from behind him. Len felt a halfway amicable slap on his back.

“This is where I retire, buddy. I’ll be at Saints.”

 Len itched to follow him. There was no way—

“I have to _what_ —”

“The cleanest way to fix unrequited love is to… requite it.”

“Well,” Lisa finally interjected, voice dripping with false honey, “at least we know you’re up to the task, brother.”

 

[ … ]

 

It was all she could do not to worry. They had contingency plans. If everything went to hell and Leonard didn’t show up by the next morning, they had at least three other plans to try. She didn’t want to use any of them, but they had a plan.

So she forcefully kept herself focused on the present. On stroking Barry.

“Iris,” he gasped for the thousandth time. She glanced up at his face, his eyes screwed tightly closed.

“You’re okay, Barry,” she slid her hand up the shaft. “Ready to cum?”

He made a noise that even she didn’t know how to interpret. It would be orgasm number three for him, so far. Anything she could do to help him take the edge off.

“I need…”

“I know.”

There was a knock at the door. She bolted upright. Barry opened his eyes, hopeful, flushed all the way through. She inhaled and, at the resounding repeated sound of someone at the door, started replacing the icepacks along Barry’s sides.

“I’ll be back.”

She dragged the sheet over him as an afterthought, hauling on one of his shirts on her way to the door. She only realized she’d forgotten pants when she got there, but looking through the peephole, that thought went out the window.

“How dare you. How _dare_ —”

If he were anyone else, here for anything else—if _she_ were anyone else, she might honestly hit him. She was surprised at her own rage, opening the door and ready for a battle.

“Is he—”

“It’s after _midnight_ , Leonard. It’s now day _six_ and he’s—you smell you like a bar.”

He looked like he was about to laugh, pulled a hand down his jaw. “Had to clear my head.”

She bristled. “Are you even here to help him? Are you _sober_ enough to help him?”

He looked at her full on, finally. He looked like shit. He obviously hadn’t shaved, there were sleepless circles under his eyes. It tightened her chest and she almost wished it hadn’t, the rage easier to deal with than this feeling. She wasn’t the only one here suffering, Barry and her weren’t the only ones.

“Yes.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth, suddenly ready to cry. It took her by surprise, the burst of it, the relief at that single syllable threatening to overtake. Leonard caught her as she almost collapsed on herself, strong arm around her middle.

“Iris?”

She tried to catch her breath, shaking her head. “Are you okay?”

“You’re asking _me_ that?” he sounded wry and she let out a single laugh, sniffing after it, dammit.

“I never ask.”

“Picked a helluva time to start.”

She sighed and pressed her feet into the floor, getting her own weight back under her but not letting go of him yet. “He’s... not good, Leonard. He’s halfway out of it. Caitlin says his fever’s enough to make him a little delirious.”

“Shit.”

Iris swallowed and felt the smooth leather of his jacket under his fingers. “His eyes… they’re still purple.”

Leonard nodded, eyes harder. “I can fix it.”

“No more potions?”

“No more tricks at all.”

She almost sagged into him again. It must’ve showed on her face, because he was in her space again, holding her. She let herself take the comfort, knowing it wasn’t fair but wanting it anyway.

“I’m sorry, Iris,” he whispered into her hair. She almost started to cry again. She wasn’t going to do that though. So she pulled back,

“You’ll take care of him?”

“Show me the way.”

She nodded and pulled back, moving through the apartment toward their bedroom. Leonard was quiet as a cat behind her, and she paused at the partly open bedroom door, alert to the sound of Barry’s too-fast breathing inside, suddenly remembering. Her cheeks felt hot.

“Iris?”

“I should just—or I guess, you’ll see, or… yeah. It’s okay. You should, um, go in.”

He looked dubious.

“I’ll just—I’m gonna go grab a book. I’ll be—yeah. Just—take care of him.”

 

[ … ]

 

Len hesitated entering the room. There was nothing for it, though. He’d spent the whole night working up his nerve, not like there was anywhere else to go from here.

It was a sight to behold, and took a second to wrap his head around. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but somehow, even if it made sense, it wasn’t this. It wasn’t Barry cuffed to the headboard of his own bed, powers dampened, just a sheet barely covering part of his body. His erection was persisting despite it, and despite what looked like ice backs along his sides and arms.

Len cleared his throat, not sure if he felt more out of place or aroused at the sight. But he moved to the bed and Barry groaned before blinking up at him.

“ _Leonard_.”

His eyes were still purple. Len steeled himself.

“Barry.” He gently brushed back the matted hair along Barry’s forehead. “Here to fix this.”

Barry let out a half-chuckle, dry. “Fuck me?”

“We’ll get to that. See…” he exhaled through his nose. What was it he was always telling people? If you’ve got something to say, say it? “I fucked this up. The potion. N’ before that. Trying to play it cool.” It got a half smile. Barry really did seem out of it. “Even my plans don’t always work,” he acknowledged, “sometimes you’ve gotta throw away the plan.”

“Snart, I—fuck I’m hot, ‘m hot, ‘m—” he groaned, arching off the bed and Len’s eyebrows raised. Barry panted out a few breaths, “Snart please. I’m on fire. Fuck me. Let me fuck you. I don’t care what you do just—”

Len’s mouth went a little dry. But Barry’s eyes were still purple.

“Barry…” He moved more over the man, balancing on his hand on the other side of him, trying to meet him eye to eye. “I’m not supposed to feel this way. Wasn’t supposed to have a soft spot for you but I did from the start. You get that?”

“Snart—”

Could he even tell what he was saying?

“You’re a blindspot. Keep _being_ a blindspot. Wasn’t supposed to be but you kept coming back for more and kept asking for help and asking _to_ help and here’s the thing, Barry: I kept it cold because I didn’t want to get attached because I wanted you from day one. I saw an opportunity and I took it because that’s who I am. Wouldn’t have been able to if I didn’t want you already.”

Barry shuddered, breathing labored. “Snart what… hurts. I need you to—”

He closed his eyes. Dammit. “I love you, Barry.”

They both inhaled. He forced himself to look at Barry. The purple in his eyes was almost swirling. His felt his chest tighten.

“Didn’t want you to know. Sure as hell wasn’t the plan.” He cupped Barry’s face, feeling like his insides might literally spill out at any moment. He was here and going for broke and the words kept falling out, “I treated you like you were radioactive and tried everything else I could to break this thing to keep myself halfway sane but you’re too fucking pretty and too fucking _good_ , okay? Wore my fucking jersey without saying a word ‘n I can’t fucking stand it sometimes, that’s why—this was never supposed to get this fucking complicated—”

The purple receded. Len swallowed. Fuck, Barry believed him. It was the truth, but that didn’t make it any _easier_. But those blue-green eyes were staring up at him and for a second, that was a relief.

And then Barry started to tear up.

“ _Lenny_.”

Len swallowed. They could deal with the fallout later. Len cupped his cheek. “There you are.”

“I’m so sorry, Len I—”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was gasped and his cheek was wet with sweat and tears.

“You won’t. Now. Let’s fix this fever, hm?” He pulled his sweater overhead, glancing at the icepacks lining Barry’s body. He moved the visible ones to the floor, stripping the rest of the way while he was standing. It left him feeling exposed, being naked in Barry’s home (in _Iris’s_ home), but the sheets were soaked with melted ice and sweat and Barry wasn’t much better, and he didn’t want his clothes to fall victim next.

“Lenny—god you’re so handsome, Len, so—” Barry shuddered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Len’s eyes tracked the room, properly taking it in for the first time. The nice art, the dresser, the clothes on the floor, the warm tones of the drapes over the window, the door to the en suite bathroom. “You got lube around here?”

Barry nodded at the bed beside him. Len’s eyebrows went up, catching on the bottle.

He moved back onto the mattress, reaching for it, half over Barry.

“I won’t need any prep, Lenny. Whatever you want, I’m ready.”

He almost told Barry not to get carried away, but Barry spread his legs, crooked his knees, sheet falling away and—

Len’s mouth went dry as the—fuck the Sahara, it was dry as the Atamaca.

Peeking out between his cheeks was a ring on the end of what could only be…

“Did—” he cut himself off. Of course Iris did this for him. Barry was cuffed. Iris hadn’t been wearing pants but he hadn’t stopped to think. Did they do this often? Or was this because the curse? Did Iris have a strap-on too? Did she know how well Barry could take cock? Fuck, he needed to stop picturing it but he couldn’t. His fingers were circling Barry’s hole, pressing, feeling the resisting pressure inside. He pulled on the ring just a little and Barry groaned.

He shouldn’t indulge but he couldn’t stop himself. He pulled until the first bead came out and Barry was panting. It was not small. Len was almost panting too.

“How many are there?”

Barry didn’t manage to answer, possibly because Len was pressing the bead back inside of him. He took it so beautifully, groaning at the fullness. Self-control went out the window. Len wanted to stay all day and edge him till he cried but neither of them could handle it, not then. So he leaned down and took as much of Barry’s cock into his mouth as he could fit. The man halfway shouted, arching up, and Len had no room left in him for mercy, pulling the beads from him inside him, popping each out fast and sucking hard.

Barry screamed when he came, arching into Len’s mouth with a sound he wasn’t about to forget anytime soon.

He also wasn’t about to forget the flavor on his tongue. It was more than just skin, before Barry came at least. Iris and him had done a lot more than just play with some toys—Len could taste her there, on Barry. It was heady and stolen and he moved up after Barry came down his throat, kissing the other man because he couldn’t help it.

“Len—Lenny, fuck—”

“I’m here, Barry. I’ve got you.”

His eyes landed on it, the key to those cuffs on the nightstand. He hesitated, glancing down at Barry’s wrecked face. Then he shifted, uncuffing the other man a second later. His eyes popped open wide, more lucid.

“Leonard—”

“I trust you.”

Barry’s face scrunched up and Len didn’t stop to decipher the expression, just pulled up the other man’s legs around his waist.

“Condom?”

Barry laughed, arms winding around him, legs around him. “We don’t own any.”

Of course they didn’t. Not that Len needed to know that, jesus. He didn’t think about it though, just slicked himself fast and pressed inside. The sound Barry made was unholy and divine. Len kissed him again, always quieting him.

That was a lost cause.

Barry was far gone. He was moaning loud and digging his fingers hard into the flesh of Len’s back, begging for it. Len could barely think around the sounds, losing himself to them, to the steady tempo and the heat of Barry’s body, almost too hot himself just from the contact. The smell of sex was thick in the room and he focused on it for a second, on the taste on Barry’s neck that had to be from lipgloss, from Iris. She’d been in his position before he knocked on their door, had been between Barry’s legs and—

Barry moaned loud the second Len came up for air. So effing loud and Len almost relished it, driving in harder.

“C’mon, Barry.”

“ _Len—Len, fuck—Len, please!_ ”

He was not a good man. He shouldn’t enjoy hearing that so much, but he did, thrusting in faster, hips slapping, gripping Barry’s sides to change the position, tilt him up, drive in deeper, make it drag along his—

Barry moaned, head dropping back, clenching around Len on each thrust. Len panted, looking down at him. At his stupid, beautiful, perfect fucking face. His fingers dug into Len’s skin and he sped up, gasping, right there and—

He finished with a groan, watching Barry’s lips until his eyes closed themselves, caught up in the pure pleasure of that tight heat around his cock, all the skin contact between them. He kept thrusting through it, little rolls of his hips to the rhythmic clenching of Barry around him, and opened his eyes in time to see the last weak spurt of Barry’s cock, his own cum coating his stomach.

He dropped his head into the crook of Barry’s neck and wished he could just stay there forever, rather than deal with the conversation waiting for him now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for your continued patience with this. I know that updates are slow, but that’s just sort of how my life is right now. I actually have had this chapter done for over two weeks but it really needed some editing. I'd ideally like to edit it more but sometimes you just gotta stop being a perfectionist and hit 'post' without sweating the small stuff too much. I think I was also holding back because this chapter hits some uncharted waters for this fic before taking a sharp left turn and I'm hoping people aren't too thrown by that.
> 
> All that being said, a lot of the rest of this fic is penned in terms of outlines / scene sketches, and it’s just a matter of getting them to the finish line now. There’s still some tension along the way but I’d say that given how long these chapters are, we’re down to 2-3 more? 4 if I go crazy, haha.
> 
> There’ll be more discussion next chapter about that potion and about Len’s feelings for him. But this seemed like a decent place to stop? :D


	13. Timeshare

Iris made a beeline for the couch and started to chew her thumbnail. Her cheeks were still hot, thinking about the state that Leonard was going to find Barry in, with those beads inside him. She dropped her face into her hands with a shaky breath. The past twenty-four hours had been some of the most high strung of her life.

She grabbed her phone off the coffee table and checked and rechecked her email and social media for any distraction. It didn’t help. Her knee was jittering and she stilled it, sighed, and then—

She closed her eyes against the sound, as if that would help. Someone was groaning. Probably Barry—yeah, it sounded like him. She should just—

Oh. Wow. That was—her lips dropped open at the same time as her eyebrows shot up. That was _loud._ That was—that almost screamed shout, Barry must be cumming. The beads…

She tried and failed not to picture it. Him, cuffed to the headboard like she’d left him, a hand on him, fingers that were longer, more masculine and—

A moment later, there was something like laughter behind the bedroom door, before it was cut off. How thin was their bedroom door, seriously? Not that she’d ever cared before but it suddenly seemed like a pertinent question. Especially because the laughter was replaced quickly by…

Her ears started to burn, the sound of moaning filtering through the whole apartment. The headboard hitting against the wall. She spared a wince for Barry’s poor wrists, cuffed to it, but then again, maybe he liked that in this state? Bound and at Leonard’s mercy? He certainly didn’t seem to be complaining. She’d never heard him make so much noise and for a second she felt the pit in her belly stir into something with a flick of anger to it, hot and twisting around.

She’d never thought for a second to be jealous of the sex that Barry and Len had. It was out of their control, and her mind had never conjured anything halfway sexy when thinking about it, even if she knew logically the curse made Barry want it. But logic was one thing, and these sounds were another.

The warmth was spreading in her. It molded into her chest, but at the same time, it felt tight and clenching as it moved south. She was getting wet. Well, wetter. Barry moaned again, loud, the headboard slammed harder against the wall. She pulled in shallow breaths and pressed her thighs tight together, cunt starting to throb. Did he always enjoy it this much? Did he always beg Leonard like that, calling his name? She couldn’t stop picturing them moving together and her face—whole body, really—felt hot. God, she could almost cum to this, it would take almost nothing, just the quick press of a finger, all she’d have to do is arch up into it and listen and—

That sound—that was Leonard. She gasped, ears straining toward it. It was deeper, gravelly, and the hammering of the headboard got fast then slammed to a halt and she heard him—

Iris couldn’t get enough air. Her cheeks were burning. All she could see behind her eyelids was Barry cuffed up and underneath Leonard, legs wrapped around the other man, full of him, full of his dick (it was really there, wasn’t it? Leonard was inside—)

He’d just cum inside of Barry. Of course he had; he had to every time this happened. But that was abstract and this was—

_“You want to know everything—how I touch him when we’re together? How desperate Barry sounds when I fuck him? How it feels when he sucks my cock?”_

She stood up off the couch and glanced down to make sure she hadn’t left a wet spot. Her underwear were soaked through and she still wasn’t wearing any pants.

Did he get Barry off too? Was he feeling okay? Should she put on pants?

She heard the sound of water in the pipes, one of them in the en suite bathroom, and her insides throbbed again just a little, she could feel it in her clit this time, protesting that she’d deny herself this when she’d been so close, would have needed almost nothing, just that little—

She shook her head and headed quick to the kitchen, poured herself an ice cold glass of water. She was still trying to gather her scattered thoughts and feelings when the bedroom door opened.

 

[ … ]

 

Barry’s breathing was too fast and his heartrate was worse.

He was still fully wrapped about Len, Len still wrapped around him, breathing into the crook of his neck. He felt it against his skin, coming down from the fever but too hot for all the normal reasons, soaked with sweat and melted ice and…

“Leonard…”

The man’s breathing got a little steadier. Barry closed his eyes. Jesus. This was—

“You’re still…” inside.

The man pulled out. Barry winced at it, messy and sore. He detangled himself from Len and the man did the same, grabbing up his clothes off the floor and making a beeline for the bathroom. Barry didn’t know what to say and let him go. He could hear the water running and rubbed his wrists. Every muscle in his body felt either sore or like jelly or both. He wanted to pass out for a thousand years. But he couldn’t lay here staring at the ceiling for long. Even lying down felt gross with how soaked through the sheets were, and everything smelled like sex and Iris was still—

Fuck. He sat up with a hiss and dragged both hands through his hair. How much of that could Iris hear? He’d been so out of it, so…

He sped around the room, wiping himself down, stripping the bed, shoving everything into the laundry basket and placing the used sex toys aside for cleaning, and Leonard opened the door just as Barry was taking stock of whether he should put clothes on or wait to clean up and…

It was less weird than it had been back when all this started, Len fully dressed and him naked and messy. It left him at a loss again though, locking eyes with the other man standing in the doorway. Then Len looked away and moved toward the door.

“Wait.”

The man did, back to Barry, hand on the knob. His shoulders looked as tense as Barry had ever seen them.

“We need to—”

“Talk. I know.”

“But you’re leaving?”

There was a pause. Len’s posture changed. He stood up straighter, cricked his neck to the side. His voice was controlled when he responded, “Iris deserves the same answers. I’ll wait out there. Go shower.”

  
Barry’s eyebrows were in his hairline but Len was already slipping out the door. He took a second to breathe after, knowing the other man was right—he was rank, a mess of a couple different kinds of fluids, enough to make his nose curl once he noticed.

He actually spent a few proper minutes under the spray of the shower, letting it be lukewarm as it washed over him, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

Leonard—Len _loved_ him? That just didn’t make sense. Since when? How? Len _hated_ this curse probably more than Barry did, got pissed at him two thirds of the time he was in the fever and it wasn’t like he’d done anything to woo the other man.

He dropped his head to the tiles and had no idea what to do about the lump in his throat or the lead in his stomach. Leonard had drugged him—fucking _drugged_ him. After that fiasco with the ruby, after all the shit he’d made Barry do and promised not to do again and _this_? Whatever the hell this even was.

He turned off the water and got some pajama pants and a tee, toweling his hair before heading out to the kitchen. He hadn’t gathered his thoughts or feelings in the slightest but delaying it for even one second longer was making him feeling sick.  

Iris was in the kitchen. She was still just in his shirt and it almost stopped him short, the sight of her standing there sipping a glass of water, oversized shirt cutting just at the top of her thighs. For a second Barry’s brain pictured that shirt as Len’s jersey, Iris standing there in it. They were laughing quietly.

Something twisted into his stomach. They noticed him. Iris bit her lip, Len looked at him then away quickly, in the opposite direction. It felt tense, like a stand-off. Iris broke the silence first.

“Feeling,” her voice was raspy and she cleared her throat, “better?”

He nodded, moving to her side. She was opposite Leonard, both of them leaning against opposing counters. “Yeah. Fever’s gone.”

“Good.”

He put his arm around her shoulder. He crushed down the part of him trying to make him feel guilty about it. It was his apartment, his girlfriend, his goddamn life and—

He shook himself. Whatever tight and hurt part of his stomach was currently in control needed to quiet down. He focused his attention on Leonard, on his crossed arms and the stubble along his jaw—he could still feel it razing his skin when thought about it, against his neck and jaw and the way the man’s mouth felt around his—

“What…” he exhaled slowly, pushing his voice back toward calm, “did you make me drink?”

The man shifted his stance, pursed his lips. There was an empty glass of water next to him on the counter.

“Had the bright idea to get a second opinion on your curse. The potion was a failed medication.”

“ _Details_ , Snart.” He was a little surprised at how steely of a command it held. He’d moved forward when he said it, away from Iris, spurred by heat in his upper chest, but she put a hand on his arm and he exhaled.

Len opened his mouth and closed it. For a second, Barry thought he was just going to leave. He looked almost sad. Something about it made Barry want to punch a wall till his knuckles bled.

“Kat didn’t tell you?”

“Tell us _what_?”

The man took a second, staring at him, at Iris, and Barry could see the change when it happened. Whatever it was that clicked for him, decision made. He blinked, then his eyes got harder, he rolled his shoulders and stood away from the counter. Swathing himself in layers of cool indifference, it was seeping from his voice when he spoke,

“I went to Iris’s new ‘bestie’, Fiona. Thanks for that recommendation, by the way,” he nodded at her and she shifted next to Barry. “She suggested that if the issue was the curse forcing love, then curing that love ought to suffice. Clearly, a credit to her craft. She whipped up a potion cure for unrequited love.”

Barry’s stomach dropped.

“Turns out taking the fever-fake love out of this mess doesn’t fix the rest of it. You know what happened next.” He nodded at Barry, eyes meeting his again, finally. His throat felt tight. Len tilted his head, dragging a finger along the condensation on the counter, just a hint of self-consciousness. “’N there was only one proper fix for the potion’s side-effects.”

His throat burned. He closed his eyes, counted to three before opening them again, breathed out through his teeth.

“That’s why you said it.” He didn’t need to confirm it, but the man was nodding. “Did you mean it? Or was it just to cure me.”

For a moment, everything was still and quiet. The clock ticked, Iris glanced between them, and Barry felt twisted up in his chest and throat and stomach and everywhere else. Len’s fist clenched against the counter.

“I meant it.” The drawl was gone from his voice, the control. He looked—he was open, arms against the counter behind him, in his sweater and jacket but open to attack, looking away and there was something so tense and hopeless in his frame and Barry—

“You love me?” It rasped, barely wanted to come out of his throat. Iris inhaled sharply beside him. Len’s hands shook on the counter.

“Looks like it.” Not that he was looking at Barry. There was a spot of color on the one cheek Barry could see, head turned so far to the side, but it wasn’t the type that came from embarrassment or desire. Len was ashamed.

Barry had no idea what to do with any of this. But he knew he didn’t understand—

“Then _why_? If you love me then why the hell would you make me drink that when you knew I couldn’t say no?” his voice was raised by the end, almost in Len’s space and he didn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t for the other man’s eyes to get hard, to stand up angry and tight and match his stance, voice low and quiet,

“ _Because_ I love you,” his voice just barely left the ‘you idiot’ as implied. “You think I _want_ this? I can’t fucking stand this, Barry. I’m stuck in this twisted little fairy tale where the one I want is forced into wanting me and I’d do _anything_ to stop that except letting you die, and those seem to be my only fucking options right now so excuse me for trying to save us both from this shit because losing this before it ends is one thing but watching it play out till you hate me too much to ever love me or love me and then walk away the second that you do is—”

He cut off and Barry was frozen, unable to move as he headed for the door. His brain was white noise, static on high frequency.

“ _Wait_!”

Iris had said it, not him. Barry still couldn’t move. His cheeks felt wet. He couldn’t even look, but his peripheral vision told him Len had stopped in the doorway. Barry blinked his eyes back to focus, turning enough to watch. Iris had rushed to him, caught his arm. He was stiff in every line of his body, facing the door, breathing heavy and fists balled at his side.

“Please,” her voice was quieter, “just—”

“Don’t worry, Iris,” he cut her off. “I’ll see him in three days.”

“Three?”

The man tilted his head back. Barry could see him in three quarter view, most of his back, just a hint of his face. He got the impression he was staring at the ceiling. “Gotta cure him somehow. Fucking him when he can barely string two words together isn’t helping.”

“Are you… are you going to keep trying to find other cures?”

Barry’s stomach felt tight for the pause before Len shook his head. “I won’t do that to you again.”

Barry wasn’t even sure which of them he was speaking to but Iris let out a single laugh, not like it was funny but something else, and moved closer to him, still holding his sleeve. Barry couldn’t look away. She pressed her forehead to the spot between his shoulder blades.

“Thank you, Leonard.”

“’M I allowed go now?” his voice was mostly a teasing grumble. Barry’s stomach turned itself inside out.

“Can we talk again… soon?” he managed to ask. Some perverse part of him had wanted to break their reverie and he regretted it when they both sighed. But Len nodded.

“I’ll see you in a few days.”

And then he was gone.

 

[ … ]

 

Iris stared at the ceiling, gnawing at her lip. Barry had tossed and turned half the night, finally settled now and she glanced at the clock. It was well after 3am. Lovely. She glanced his way, the moonlight cascading over him. He didn’t even look peaceful in his sleep tonight. She was pretty sure he was grinding his teeth. She sighed and went back to staring at the ceiling.

Part of her wasn’t even sad she couldn’t sleep. Worrying at a problem was the only way they ever got solved. And either way, the twisting knot in her stomach wasn’t going away. It wasn’t about Barry, about him and her. It felt like fate, at this point, that they should be together—in any time, in any universe, she felt like she could find him, would find him, even if he was lost in the speedforce she would help him find his way home. She didn’t doubt it or him for one second; it was going to take more than a curse to come between them. 

But that didn’t make this any easier. She’d started dating Barry in the summer, had a few months of bliss before this curse came on. And now there was already snow starting to hit the ground. Leonard had been wrapped in their relationship almost half as long as it had formally existed. Just like that, so many weeks had blinked right by. With work, family, criminals and metahumans on the side, and all their extra time devoted to this curse… it had almost started to feel normal. A background entity except when they were actively working on it.

Except the past few days had proven it was anything but normal.

And what did she know about Leonard, really? That he’d tried to kill her dad, derailed a train, almost killed Barry? That he’d kidnapped Caitlin and Cisco, or that he threatened her the first time they met? That he’d betrayed Barry more than once now?

And that Barry trusted him. Believed in him, helped him, wanted to fight alongside him. That _she_ trusted him. That he made Barry scream with pleasure, made her own knees weak with just a few words and his enigmatic presence alone.  

And that he loved Barry.

She closed her eyes against the burn. He loved Barry. She loved Barry. And she couldn’t even entertain the thought of losing him, so sure it would never happen. But that’s what Leonard was facing—having Barry and losing him the second it was real. And that just—

That was just too cruel.

 

[ … ]

 

“And that’s… everything from the past few days.” Iris hung her head between her shoulders, leaning forward. Across the table, her dad let out one of his standard noises that could be either understanding or deep regret at starting this conversation, depending on his mood. He cleared his throat.

“Right.”

She grabbed her glass of wine and finished it. He sighed again, leaning forward in his chair.

“Iris, honey… what happens between Barry and Snart—you know it doesn’t _change_ anything between you and Barry?”

She didn’t point out how naïve it was to think that way. “Leonard _loves_ Barry. And Barry’s going to love him.”

“Snart’s love almost got Barry killed.”

She sat back and low in her seat, rolling her gaze up to the ceiling and staring at it for a minute. “We all make mistakes. Leonard was trying to protect him. I don’t think I’d be much better, in his shoes.”

He seemed to be chewing on that. If nothing else, talking to her dad always made her head feel clearer.

“So what can you do about it? ‘Cause hon, I don’t think a fruit basket or an editorial can help things here. Barry’s yours, that ain’t changin’, and Snart’s gotta suck it up.”

She sighed, fingers twisting a little into her hair. “Why… does it have to be either or?”

“Hn?”

“I mean… right now we’re in a… _timeshare_ , right? Barry splits his time at home with me, and sometimes with Leonard.”

“Uh huh…”

“What if—after the curse is lifted I mean—what if that just kept… happening?”

The silence became palpable. When she finally chanced a look at his face, his eyes were wide and confused.

“You’re talking about letting Barry cheat—”

“It’s not cheating!” she rushed to amend, sitting up a little straighter, “just… sharing.”

“Why… would anyone in their right mind want to _share_?”

“Lots of people do—multiple spouses, or open relationships, or… there’s lots of ways…”

“’N I don’t get why anyone would want that but even if they do—it’s _Snart_.”

The way he said it had her snorting out a laugh. “He’s not _that_ terrible, Dad.”

“Coulda fooled me. You know how long his rap sheet is, right?”

“Yeah…” She did. And she didn’t even know if she wanted to share, or _could_ share, or if Barry wanted that, especially after being center stage for most of the crueler things Leonard had done to their team. But Barry never stopped believing him, still trusted him and she knew he cared about him. That had to mean something.

“But you think you’d be okay with Barry splitting his time between you and a criminal?”

She had to be, it was already happening. But she knew it would be different after the curse, in more ways than one. Would she still be okay with it, with him leaving once every few days to spend his evening with someone else?

“And what about y’know, down the line… engagements, weddings… I still hope I’m getting grandkids at some point?”

“Dad!” she rolled her eyes, “Barry and me _just started_ dating this year.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying…”

“Yeah…” she said back, realizing she’d never really thought about the long-term, not properly.

“So what good will come of making Snart Barry’s… other man?”

“None, I guess… not… like that.”

“See? Splitting ain’t the answer.”

“No, it’s not.” But something else might be.

 

[ … ]

 

“How was your dad’s?”

Barry heard her come in and her bag drop before she appeared around the wall by the entranceway, stretching. “It was… good. He needed an update. Cisco’s been talking to him but it helps to hear it from us.”

“Yeah,” He was up off the couch and heading toward the fridge. “Hard to know how to talk to him about it.”

“Yeah… I left out any mentally scarring details.”

He laughed and she did too. He could feel her eyes on him as he grabbed a drink out of the fridge and belatedly thought to offer. “You want a beer?”

She shook her head, “had wine at dad’s. Had to uber home.”

“I could’ve come got you?”

She gave him a look more indulgent than it warranted, saying, “ _some_ of us don’t mind doing things at normal speed most days.”

He grinned in response, just a little one pulling his lips up as he moved to take a drink of the beer he’d just opened. He caught Iris’s eye over the bottle as he sipped and she was headed toward him with mischief in her eyes, hands out and he knew what was coming, knew using his powers would be cheating to dodge, and subjected himself to the tickle-attack. His ribs weren’t guarded and easily his most ticklish spot and he was surprised at how ticklish he was today, halfway bursting into laughter.

Oh this was not fair. He caught one of her hands but she squirmed out of it and he was still holding his beer and laughing and doubling over a bit and trying to fight back but it was to no avail. She knew every weak spot and exploited it.

 “I’m gon—not fair I’m gonna spill my—ahhaha c’mon my beer, Iris!”

She snagged it from him with her free hand, taking a swig. He stretched back with an easy sigh. “I’m gonna get you for that.”

She hummed and retreated, heading toward the couch, his beer still in her hand.

“Thought you didn’t want one,” he called after her, pulling the fridge open again.

“Tastes better when it’s stolen.”

He snorted, “you sound like Leonard.”

Iris paused. Barry tensed. Shit. He shouldn’t have said that.

She took another swig and Barry was trying to find some way to apologize but she found words first, “well, something tells me a tickle fight with him would involve a lot more elbows.”

He let his shoulders relax a little and moved to join her on the couch. “I don’t doubt it.”

It was a little too stiff, both of their deliveries. He appreciated the effort anyway, but for a moment neither of them spoke.

“Have you messaged him today?”

Barry shook his head. “I’m giving him space.”

“Mm. Thought about what he said?”

“About his feelings?”

She shrugged one shoulder, curling her knees under her to face him, elbow on the back of their couch. “All of it.”

He sighed and dropped his head back. “Sure. It’s—it changes everything but it doesn’t change anything. Except that what I’m doing to him is even worse than I knew it was before.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t change anything? About—how you feel, maybe?”

He didn’t know what to do with that, not exactly sure what she meant but he knew what _he_ thought about it. It tied his stomach up in knots and he shifted in his seat to put his beer down. “I don’t think the curse is lifted. I wish—I wish that was all it took. Knowing how he feels.”

He couldn’t look at her and closed his eyes for a second.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she said quietly after a moment, “that he confessed that feeling and you didn’t…”

“Yeah.”

Turns out he wasn’t the one who needed a potion for unrequited love. His chest ached just thinking of it, too much still wrapped up there to sort out.

“It’s hard,” she said, voice thick and he turned to her, “to make yourself feel one way when you feel another.”

“Iris?”

She was staring out at the room, eyes watery but tears not falling yet. He tensed even further but she sniffed and said too fast, “I’m fine. I’m fine. I just—I keep thinking about _after_ you do fall in love with him. This makes things more complicated.”

“Except it doesn’t.” He’d barely been able to sleep the night before, turning it over in his head. The fact of the matter was that it didn’t really change anything except that he felt like more of an asshole about putting Len in this position, making him help when all it was giving him was heartbreak. When this started Barry hadn’t even known the man could _feel_ heartbreak, and here he was doing it to him. “Everything’s still the same.”

“No, Barry,” she sounded sharp. “It’s not the same. You’ll be in love with someone who loves you back.”

His stomach dropped and he turned completely to face her.

“Iris I’m not—we’re _solid_. Aren’t we?” He couldn’t lose her to this, not now. He cupped her elbow and she didn’t shake him off but she was still staring out over the room and he felt lost.

“Of course. Of course.”

It didn’t sound near as much like an affirmation as it should have, not with her voice so tight, and tears slipping out.

“Will you look at me? Please?” It came out imploring and he thought back to the night before, after Len left and he’d been standing in the kitchen with tears streaming down his own face until Iris had come over and ushered him into an embrace.

And like that moment, she inhaled now and curled herself up under the crook of his neck, inviting his arms to hug her close. It made him feel steadier, more stable, even if she wasn’t technically looking at him. She was still in his arms.

“I just… have some feelings I need to sort out. Figure out what’s… real and what’s just in my head.”

“Okay…”

He felt her shake her head a little, then sigh. “You said before… if there’s anything I need to do to process all this…” she trailed off and he hummed, patient. “Did you mean it?”

“Of course,” he whispered before kissing the top of her head, hugging her a little tighter.

“Even if it means… doing something that wouldn’t normally be okay?”

He tensed. “You have something in mind?”

“Not yet. Just want space to… take matters in my own hands, a little?”

As if she hadn’t been doing that from the start. He didn’t say it though, because his chest was too tight. They’d had that conversation after finding out the truth of the curse and he’d been so grateful that Iris was still by his side, knowing how awful it must feel to watch him fall for someone else. It was a blank cheque as far as he was concerned, but that didn’t mean he was entirely thrilled about where it might lead, especially considering what he’d mentioned when he offered it.

“I just… I just want to know I have permission, if…”

If she wanted to sleep with someone else? He hoped it didn’t come to that. And yet he’d meant it. The least he could do was stand out of the way if she wanted to explore… whatever she needed to. He steadied his nerve and nodded against her hair. “Whatever you need, if it helps. I meant it. Just so long as we have each other.”

 

[ … ]

 

Iris pursed her lips, wind whipping at her flyaway hairs, clouds overhead. No point in standing around looking. She stepped up to the door, rapping confidently with her knuckles. She always knocked higher on the door than her arm necessarily wanted to go, a story she’d read as a kid giving her the idea that it would make her sound taller. She doubted that type of thing really worked on Leonard Snart anyway.

She heard a noise near the door and tried not to stare directly at the eyehole. A moment later she heard the lock unbolt. He opened it with a quirked eyebrow squarely in place, gun powering down at his side and she stood abruptly straighter, shifted her grip on the coffee cups, mustering up a tight smile.

“Leonard. Hi.”

“Iris…” He set the gun aside, cast a glance out the door behind her. “Just you?”

“Yeah, I uh—I got the location from Cisco. The suit’s GPS. In case you were wondering. I just mean, Barry didn’t tell me your address.”

He stepped back to let her in. “It’s a safehouse. Won’t be staying here as soon as this is over.”

Did he move often? Did he have a permanent address? “I brought coffee.”

“I see that.”

He accepted one despite the quirked comment, taking a sip. “Black?”

“I wasn’t sure how you take it?”

He hummed and she tried to hide her smile at being let in so easily, this going so smoothly so far. She glanced around unabashedly. The space was older but functional—no art or décor on the walls really, but a mirror that surprised her until she thought for a second and realized it wasn’t placed out of vanity, but to give a viewing angle around corners if needed. There was a couch and a recliner and a coffee table and an older TV, and these backed on to an open kitchen, with a hallway that stretched to a bedroom, door open. Sunlight was filtering in, no actual lights on in the house.

“Well?” he prompted after a minute of letting her glance around. She spun on her heel to face him again, leaning against a shelf and eyeing her.

“I checked Saints and Sinners first.”

“Could’ve called.”

She felt almost guilty. “You wouldn’t have told me not to come?”

He didn’t really answer, just took another sip of his coffee, even if he seemed… entertained? She leaned against the back of the couch and his face did something indescribable before he reverted to sipping coffee. She stepped away from the couch and glanced down at it. No _noticeable_ stains.

“Can we talk?”

“Talk, oi,” he made it sound long-suffering but amused at the same time. She rolled her eyes.

“Or I can keep poking around this place and uncover more fun facial expressions from you.”

He actually let out a huffed little laugh this time. “No surface is safe.”

Her eyebrows raised but she followed him into the kitchen, where he took a second to pull out something from a cupboard. It was sugar, and he started ladling a decent amount into his coffee.

“What is it you want to say?”

She hesitated. He was being, well, almost nice, at least by Captain Cold standards. She doubted it was going to last once she dug in to the topic. “It’s not that easy. I didn’t come here for a… specific issue. I want to get to know you.”

His eyes were suddenly sharp on her. “Why?”

She thought about sitting at the table, inviting him to sit. It was covered with newspapers, a book, some loose change, candles, at least one screwdriver and a few pens, and then what looked like morning dishes, some half-eaten toast. She stayed standing, moving carefully around the table and closer to him, but not close enough to invade his space.

“How are you feeling?”

He sighed and looked toward the window, shifting his stance. “I’ll make sure I do what I can to get Barry cured. If you have tips on wooing him to speed things up, feel free to drop them in my inbox. I’m not the dinner and a movies type but I can make an exception to get this over with.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s not…” a bad idea, “why I’m here.”

“Then why are you?” It was almost sharper again, more suspicious, eyes landing on her. She set down her coffee on the counter beside her. It was making her jittery anyway.

“Are you—I’ve been thinking about all this very short term. One week at a time. Then ‘just until he’s cured’. But the other day made me realize—this doesn’t just end the second he’s cured.”

There was a pause. “Sure it does.”

She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Is that what you want?”

“What I _want_ has nothing to do with this situation.”

That really wasn’t true, and not just because of the nature of the curse. She bit her lip. “I’m not so sure that’s true anymore. We’re—you realize that we’re in a V, right?”

“A…v?”

“Like—Barry is the vertex. We’re the tops of the two sides. It’s a V, not a triangle. We’re time-sharing him.”

“Riiight.”

It made sense in her head. “You know I’ve been sharing my boyfriend for almost half as long as I’ve been dating him.”

His shoulders got stiff again. She kept talking.

“Not that it’s put much strain. The curse has—the stress, worrying about his health, the fever. But not—not the rest of it. I mean a little but only because it’s hard to talk about and that’s not…” She was rambling. He wasn’t saying anything. Her cheeks felt tight from trying to smile. “Are you… gay?”

He blinked. “Not exactly.”

She hadn’t thought so, specifically. “Is Barry the first—”

“No.”

She swallowed. “It’s just—I didn’t ask, before dragging you into this. At the time it didn’t seem to matter.”  

“I figured you clocked me. I stopped trying to hide that I’m queer a long time ago.”

“Still attracted to women though, right?”

He hummed. She nodded.

“I thought so. Gay men don’t look at me the way you do.”

If he was embarrassed, he didn’t show it. She almost felt it, having let that tumble out, but it almost seemed to thaw him. “Well, have you seen yourself?”

It startled a laugh out of her. There was a challenge in it, and that was something to anchor on. “You looked at Barry the same way, at Christmas. I used to wonder if there was something there, before, though I didn’t really let myself think… He had you up against the mantle and it looked like flirting from your end. Pigtail pulling.”

He shrugged one shoulder but seemed amused, a smirk dancing around his lips. “S’pose that’s why you tracked me down then, in the first place?”

“Actually, Barry picked you. I just found you.”

He arched an eyebrow but looked away. She pursed her lips, unsatisfied.

“You two always had a kind of ‘something’, right? That’s what he called it.”

“Did he, now?”

She wanted to ask how he could stand it, the jealousy he must feel, watching her with Barry.

“You said you got him off, when he wasn’t fevered. He said you two didn’t on the day 2 you spent together…”

“I don’t want to talk about Barry.”

She paused. How exactly could they not? Barry was here, the ghost in the room, the elephant. But maybe that was why he kept tensing up. She picked at her nails a little, trying to gather some runaway thoughts into something that might soothe. “You’re not… the only one who feels jealous.”

He snorted, then his eyebrows went up when he realized she was serious. “He’s yours.”

“I know that, I… you get him off. You—I could hear.” She felt herself flush, eyes on his, and that coffee was definitely a terrible idea because her heartbeat was going too fast to catch. “I’ve never heard him so loud.”

Leonard swallowed. She felt somehow acutely aware of it. “That’s the curse.”

“So he wasn’t like that on your… day together?”

Would he be loud on a day 2, like he was in their apartment? Or more himself, with quieter, hitched breaths?

He looked to the side, a little stiffer. “Didn’t cum that day. Just edged him before Cisco interrupted.”

She knew they hadn’t really but now her cheeks went hot, a word tumbling out, “ _how_?”

He looked confused at her.

“I just mean,” she stepped forward then waffled, re-tucking her hair by her ear, suddenly self-conscious, “How did you edge him? He’s too sensitive, with his powers. Or was he cuffed?”

It was a blessing Barry could keep going after cumming, could repeat his orgasms thanks to his powers, because his staying power itself wasn’t amazing, and _she_ hadn’t had an easy time getting him to any sort of edge and keeping him there. He always tumbled forward, mostly way too fast.

“Looking for tips?” It was obviously meant to be mean.

She laughed but it was brittle. “And if I am?” She took that step forward, bolder, looking up at him. He was Barry’s height, or just about. She tested putting her hand on his chest and felt him still under it. “Is it so bad I want to know how you touch him?”

His eyes were hard on her. “I told you to ask him.”

“That just confuses me more, when I do. I can’t figure out…” and then it clicked, as it came out of her mouth, what had been tightening her throat for a week or more, what had been stopping up her solar plexus every time she thought of him. “…if I just want him, if I’m just confused because of him wanting you, or if what I’m feeling is because I want you too.”

Her hand was over his heart. He’d probably have made her move it if he realized she could feel how fast it was beating. “You want me?” his voice was quieter, rawer, and she shivered a little. She looked up at him through her lashes and she could _see_ how his pupils had dilated.

“I think I want to figure that out.” She leaned ever so slightly forward while a voice in her head started to screech in the background, demanding what she was doing. Her other hand had moved up to his chest too. He had 8 inches on her and she was on her toes.

“Be careful what you wish for.” He moved in just a little, and this time she was sure she felt his fingers along the hem of her dress.

“Show me.”

She couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud but she wasn’t taking it back. She refused to stop and think for a second. If she did her knees would collapse right out from under her. They were so close. His breath was unsteady and she could feel it against her cheek, and something about that made her feel vindicated.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.” It wasn’t fair but she didn’t have it in her to care; it was true. Her hands found their way to his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking off limits, Iris.”

He brought up a hand, thumb settling on her bottom lip, dragging it down. He moved in just a little and he was _right_ there, lips almost on hers.

“Is that what he says, after he tells you he thinks of us together?”

He inhaled sharply. She could feel it; he was so close. His free hand had found its way to her hip and it felt warm, and big. Her eyes were mostly closed of their own accord. She could feel his nose against the side of her face now. She could hardly catch her breath. She wasn’t sure when he’d become so sexy.

His lips were so gentle in their graze on her jaw she wondered if they were actually there at all. “This is a terrible idea.”

She tilted herself just a little, leaned just a bit more into him, pressing their chests together, her arms anchored on his broad shoulders and she pulled herself taller, got her lips close to his ear. “I have _permission_.”

His hand on her waist tightened suddenly, like a reflex, bunching up some fabric of her dress with it.

“I sure as shit don’t.”

She laughed, though it was quiet and tight between them.

“He really knows?”

“No specifics. But I have his okay.”

This time she knew she wasn’t imagining the feeling and gasped when she felt the flick of his tongue against the taut skin of her neck, sealed by his lips.

“He’s gonna kill me when he finds out.”

She angled her body into his. He was hard and both of their breaths caught. She could feel his hand creeping up the small of her back, her dress riding up. “Good thing he likes you.”

“Iris—”

“ _Yes_.”

He got one hand up in her hair and he was kissing her, then. She didn’t _expect_ fireworks but—

His hand was big and the way it held her head, tugged just a little at her hair and the way he made her gasp, open-mouthed and then he was there, tongue inside her mouth—it was so intense she almost forgot how to breathe. He had her totally flush to him and she could _feel_ how strong he was, like it took nothing to hold her and she couldn’t help that she honest to god whimpered into his mouth. Was this how he kissed Barry? Like the world was on fire?

She was clutching him and the next thing she knew he had both hands on her thighs and he was _lifting_ her. She clamped them around his waist, gasping into his mouth because he didn’t even break the kiss and she swore internally. If she ever wanted to be in a movie where the guy sweeps the shit off the desk for the girl so they can fuck on it, she was suddenly there because he had her back against the hard surface of the table and didn’t seem to give a damn about any of the things crashing to the floor.

This was happening so fast. This was _happening_.

He kissed her neck and she dug her fingers into his back, pulling up at the sweater and he discarded it but was still in a t-shirt underneath. She wanted to do away with it but his hands were sliding up the outsides of her thighs, rucking her dress up, grabbing her ass—god that felt good—and exposing her skin. She was about to pull it over her head but got distracted by his fingers in the band of her underwear, pulling from both hips and fuck—she let him. His hands slid down her thighs like worship as he slid them off and she was expecting him to come back and kiss her and _maybe_ he might finger her then but she didn’t expect—

She moaned because his mouth was between her legs.

He got her thighs up on his shoulders and she couldn’t believe—she moaned again because that was his tongue and it was broad and hot and slick and _he_ moaned against her. She forgot to even feel self-conscious and he pressed his tongue literally inside of her, fucking hard and she gasped.

It wasn’t long before he replaced it with a finger, crooked just right, searching and finding and she groaned when it slid against her g-spot. Her hands might be on his head, his hair short and coarse and so different—it was so different under her hands than Barry’s hair. His fingers were thicker and when he added a second it felt like a stretch and he didn’t know her as well, testing movements with his tongue against her clit like he wasn’t sure what she liked. She felt reminded of her first time with Barry and—oh fuck, Leonard was sucking a little and she hissed out a breath and he was gentler then, flicking at it.

She swallowed tight. “Like that.”

He made an appreciative noise and his fingers found a rhythm and she couldn’t help that she rocked her hips up just a little with the movements, fucking herself on his digits. She couldn’t believe how good they felt inside of her. And then the remembered, breath catching as she wondered if this was how Barry felt with him. She almost asked, knew it would be a dig but he interrupted her thought process—

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”

She let out a little keening noise, throat dry, arching into his mouth and her clit was throbbing as his tongue got right there and swirled and _just_ —

“I’m gonna—oh fuck keep going oh _fuck_ Leon— _ahh_ I’m—” Her back arched off the table, legs clamping tight around his head and his fingers were fast and hard and she _shouted_ out her orgasm, inner walls spasming around his fingers and he fucked her through it with them, dragging it out. She was almost dizzy it felt so good. He kissed her thigh and stood up, sucked on his own fingers and she laughed.

“Like the taste?”

He hummed. She sat up and reached for his belt, massaging the outline for his cock and watching as his eyes rolled back. She was sated enough now that she could almost run for the hills except the thought of leaving him hanging was audacious. Besides,

“How many fingers do you get inside Barry, before you fuck him?”

It was vulgar, but so was everything about this. He let out a breath that was halfway to a groan anyway. And then he leaned in and kissed her neck, raked his teeth against it, and his hands pulled her hips to the edge of the table.

“Still thinking about him?” His nose was against her neck and she swallowed because she had his cock in her hand, suddenly. It was warm and heavy in her hand and she tested strokes, listening to his breathing.

“Does he touch you like this?”

“Sometimes,” he acknowledged, kissing the base of her neck. His hands were sliding up her dress now and she could hardly believe it had survived this long. “Sometimes he sucks me till I’m hard.”

She couldn’t believe that would make her clench but it did. Did Barry even know how to give a blowjob? She realized she didn’t know the answer to that question. “Is he any good?”

She was surprised when he actually chuckled against her skin, discovering she liked the sensation. “Terrible.”

She laughed, and for a brief second it didn’t feel so tawdry. She moved her wrist in a way he seemed to like and got a quiet groan for her trouble, tightening her grip.

“Three.”

“Hmm?”

Leonard kissed her neck again, and then he was back in front her face, kissed the edge of her lip. “I get three fingers in him.”

She made a noise she wasn’t proud of, needy-sounding. The cock in her hand felt thick. She hadn’t looked down at it yet, but she could feel it, the way it sat in her palm. She swirled her thumb around the head and could tell he was into it. Her other hand went to his balls, gently massaging when she started to make little appreciative noises in the back of his throat. One of his hands slipped from her hip forward, thumb finding her clit.

“I want to feel it,” she whispered against his ear, because of all of this, that was the sacrilegious piece that she couldn’t speak too loud.

He didn’t have to ask what ‘it’ was. He moved back only slightly, hands searching but a moment later he’d found a condom from one of the pockets on his jeans and she wasn’t about to ask why he was keeping them there. She finally caught a glimpse of his cock, flushed and full and—

He leaned her back, lifted her hips and—oh.

“Oh god,” she gasped, feeling him enter her. If ever there was a point of no return. He was inside her and fuck—it felt good. She was gasping out her breaths, feeling him roll into her with a few shallow thrusts and she wrapped her arms and legs tighter around him, moving with it, head falling back and blissfully blank. Len kissed her again. She decided oxygen was overrated. She could feel him stretching her inner walls and knew she was slick and angled herself to take him deeper, glad he was the one gasping.

It was perverse, a little, that she almost wished they were doing this without a condom. She was used to feeling Barry skin-to-skin. She felt the skin of his hands though, holding tight to her, the skin of his lips as he breathed close to her ear, grazed her jaw again before moving back, changing the angle so he could fuck her properly, standing up and getting her legs up higher and drilling in and _god_ —

She was arching off the table, gasping, _moaning_. It wasn’t supposed to be this good. It wasn’t supposed to happen at all. She hadn’t planned it (had she?), hadn’t known at all it was going to happen but—

“Fuck, Iris—so goddamn beautiful, fuck—”

She almost let out a laugh but it turned into a quiet, bitten off moan. Her arms were behind her head, grabbing on to the far end of the table, using it as leverage and holding on all at once. It felt amazing. Which wasn’t the point (what was the point?), but it did and she was slick with need and sensitive. He was folded over her and she could feel him against her, his body, his lips dragging against her chest, his breath coming out in puffs against her skin.

“Yes, god, _yes_ —” She was quiet but fervent and sensitive to every thrust. She was rocking her hips up to meet him, rolling her body into it and he groaned appreciatively.

Was this how Barry felt? It had to be. She clenched around him and her eyes rolled back a little in her head. This was what Barry did, laid here under him, felt filled by him.

“Leonard,” she gasped, then arched higher, was kissed by him and kissed back. He got a hand behind her head and kissed like he meant it and it was almost hard to breathe but then he pulled back, grasped her hips and went for broke. She met his eyes and they were lidded and his mouth was open and he wasn’t anything like Captain Cold, it was all heat and fire.

And then he swore, quiet and tight, and his mouth dropped open and—“gonna, fuck I’m—”

“Yeah.”

She shuddered and watched him as he finished.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP! :D How do we think Barry’s gonna handle this?
> 
> This fic is the messiest fic I’ve ever written and it brings me joy. Also I get that some people are gonna read what Iris did here as infidelity. I’m not really here to argue with people, so feel how you gotta, but it’s a complex mess that they’re in and she’s struggling just as much as the other two are. All the emotional labour she’d done since the start has to spill over somehow. I wouldn’t say this is really a healthy way to go about setting up polyamory, but like I said – messy.
> 
> Also – Len does this neat _thing_ in canon, linguistically. Either he’s flippant with short lines, mostly quipped, especially in response to others’ questions. When he’s vulnerable, so long as he’s initiating, he says things awkwardly, but if he’s not the one initiating, he responds with harsh barbs designed to deflect. BUT. 
> 
> Sometimes, to gain or maintain control, he gives one of his ‘winning speechs’. He goes off and it’s nasal and cool in tone and sounds like complete control and indifference, even if he’s pissed, or making demands, or what-have-you. We see it in one of his first scenes, describing going to the Motorcar diner with his grandfather as a kid, or his speech(es) to Cisco when the Rogues kidnap him and he’s demanding new weapons from him and going off about how he disassembled the cold gun dozens of times, and again he does it at Ferris Air when he’s teaching Barry a lesson. When he chooses to, Len will lay out a thought or a situation with a bizarre and short but still extant speech, a dramatic flair that requires more than just a few choice words. 
> 
> And I couldn’t help but think Len would do that here. That he’d wrap himself in ice and tell Barry the exact damn truth and pretend he didn’t give a shit despite his heart and love literally being out in the open and bleeding out. It overcomes him, though, because he’s not used to being so vulnerable as he is?
> 
> Anyway, Len’s language use is always interesting to dissect…
> 
> Hope you liked the messy af chapter! Comments are love <3
> 
>  
> 
> (PS - I swear I do edit my fics but I recently discovered just... so many typos in another fic. So, sorry if there are some here, and feel free to point 'em out so I can fix them. I wrote this chapter originally mostly in present tense so there might be some tense agreement issues throughout still...)


	14. Arm's Length

And then he was finished.

Iris swallowed, holding tight to him. He didn’t move for a moment, holding her too and she wondered for the briefest moment if she wanted to cum again, considered asking him for it. But she could already feel reality starting to intrude and dragging this out would somehow make that crash worse, she knew instinctively.

After a moment, with a quiet breath, Leonard pulled out. She swallowed and watched him tie off the condom, moving toward what must be the trash bin under the sink. She stood on jello-legs, heart rabbit-fast in her chest, using the edge of the table for a little extra support. Her dress was still on and she pulled back it into place, scooped up her thong from the floor and moved toward the bathroom to clean up before Leonard had a chance to turn.

She was sitting on the toilet and peeing when it really hit.

What on god's green earth did she just  _do_?

She—god, did she just cheat on Barry? Except she had permission. Except that he told her explicitly that she could sleep with someone else if she needed to. Except that he said she could push the boundaries she needed, take the initiative she wanted and—

She dropped her head into her hands, her breathing too fast and she tried to calm it. She wasn't going to have a panic attack sitting on the toilet in Leonard Snart's rundown little townhouse. But her mind wouldn't stop running in circles. How did this happen? She hadn't planned it. She didn't come here to seduce Leonard. Did she? She'd come to talk timeshares and sharing and see—and figure out if she and him—

It wasn't meant to go this far, whatever ‘it’ was. But she'd never even for a second let herself think of how far it  _was_  supposed to go. She'd so carefully  _not_  thought it through, not planned what to say, not figured out what she wanted. She had played herself, more than she'd played either of them. Had she played them? She didn't mean to. This wasn't meant to be cruel.

What was it meant to be?

Not as good as it was, that was for sure. She stood up and flushed, cleaned herself up and tidied her makeup, the smudges to her lipstick.

“I know I keep berating you about your noonday drinking habits, but I could really use a drink right about now,” she called ahead of her on her way back to the kitchen. 

He was waiting for her, leaning against the counter. He took her in and she looked away first, and she couldn't help but feel grateful that he actually did pull out a bottle and glass. 

“No mix.”

“Just pour it straight.”

He did, and she slammed it, and ignored the way his eyebrows went up when she did. He took his own shot after, from the same glass. It wasn't like they hadn't just had their tongues down each other's throats, so why not share a glass. She quelled the hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up.

“You okay?”

She pressed her palms against the counter and let out a single, brittle, “Ha.” Because it was funny, Captain Cold asking if she was okay. “Yeah.”

“Regretting it?”

Was she? She swallowed and motioned for him to pour her another drink. After a second she shook her head. “I almost wish I did.”

He hummed, not unhappily, voice a little less tight when he asked, too casual, “you figure it out, then?”

It took her a second to catch up. If she wasn’t still flushed from the sex, she would’ve been from the question. “I think so.” She sipped the whiskey to avoid his gaze.

“And?”

She wanted to poke him in the eye for making her say it. She also figured that under that careful expression, some part of him might need to hear it. “I can’t pretend this was just about him, not when it felt…” she cleared her throat, “like that.”

His expression crinkled into something simultaneously warm and smug and she averted her eyes again. Some part of her wanted to lean into him, to hide in his chest and take solace there for a minute or ten. But that wasn’t right either—that intimacy was reserved for Barry. Wasn’t it?

“That almost makes it harder though,” she admitted quietly, looking down into the rest of the amber liquid waiting for her on the counter. “I feel awful about it.”

“You had permission. Or so I’m told.” His delivery was deadpan as ever but she almost found her lips quirking up.

“I wasn’t lying. That doesn’t make… Barry’s sleeping with another person because he has to. What I just did? I…” Her throat wouldn’t loosen enough to let out the words.

“It’s not cheating if he gave you the green light.”

She could feel the tears threatening to spill. They were sudden, unexpected and she stiffened her jaw against them. “It _feels_ like infidelity.”

He made a _tch_ noise somewhere in the back of his throat, crossing his arms in a casual way, leaning with his back to the counter where she was still facing it. “The most fidel of it then, spent the whole time thinking of him.”

It was a weird type of guilt twist into her stomach, feeling bad for not being present enough with Leonard while she slept with him instead of Barry.

“Sorry.”

He caught her elbow and she looked up at him. She didn’t realize her cheeks were wet until his thumb came up to wipe one tear away.

“Wasn’t complaining. Except you crying wasn’t what I had in mind when I made the same bad decision you did.”

She laughed a little, letting herself lean forward and rest her forehead against his chest. Back in that sweater. It was soft, at least. “I’m such a mess right now.”

“You’re in a tight spot.”

“That’s no excuse. We all are.”

“’N we’re all fucking up, or didn’t you notice?”

He kept making her laugh. That snark had some charm to it, apparently. She was relieved when he kept talking. It was easier to listen than to think.

“You had permission. He’ll forgive you.”

He didn’t mentioned Barry forgiving him, and she wasn’t brave enough to.

“Getting a pep talk from Captain Cold. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I’m a paragon of mental health. Or didn’t you know—robbing banks counts as self-care.”

This time her laugh was real, full-bellied for just a moment because she was so startled by that. Her hands reached up to catch at his sides and she gave into the laugh for a moment, eventually sighing. For a second, it was okay. For a moment, she could let herself be comforted by him. Except,

“I’ve got to tell him.”

There was a beat. She could feel him tense up. “I know.”

She was almost mad, just a second and just deep in her belly, a flash of something hot and mean. Why had he let her do something this foolish? The feeling was gone as quick as it came, though her chest didn’t stop feeling hot but she knew she couldn’t direct that at him. It wasn’t his fault she was a mess. It wasn’t his fault she wanted him. He’d said it was a bad idea. He’d warned her and she’d—she’d seduced _him._

She wanted to ask how he could love Barry and still want to do this with her. That evaporated too, as quick as the thought was formed. Leonard loved Barry, but so did Iris, and it hadn’t stopped either of them. Was he like her? Was he thinking of Barry too? Did he even want her at all?

She stepped back from him and felt a little sick. How could either of them do this to Barry? She pulled out her phone.

“What—now?” Leonard’s voice seemed strangled.

She couldn’t forgive herself if she waited even one more minute. “Yeah.” It was already dialing.

“I’ll just…” Leonard’s eyebrows were sky high, and he was making motions toward the back door. She caught his arm.

“Hey,” Barry’s voice came over the line. Leonard looked at the door then back to her, but didn’t try to pull his arm free.

“Hey,” she replied, then bit her lip. Leonard mimed his fingers into a gun and pointed them at his temple with an exaggerated meaningful look at her, plainly mouthing the words _he’s going to kill me_. She swatted his arm.

“What’s up? Everything okay?” Barry asked and she realized the silence had dragged on too long.

“Yeah! Just—” Leonard had both hands raised in surrender and was backing up slowly. She rolled her eyes and chased forward to grab his sleeve again. “Actually no, not—” Leonard gave her a look. “Really. I need you to come here.”

He rolled his whole head back to stare at the ceiling, long-suffering.

“Come where?”

Her stomach was tight and her chest was tight and she was embarrassingly grateful for the distraction Leonard was making of himself so that she was too busy to burst into tears over the phone. Presently, he was whispering the words, “if you need me, I’ll be in Canada.”

She swallowed. “Leonard’s… house. Safe house? You know the one.”

There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. “I’ll be right there.”

He clicked off the phone. She felt her eyes water, just a little, but smoothed her hand up from Leonard’s sleeve to cup his face. His expression had gone from comical to miserable in a heartbeat. She tried to smooth it. “Thank you.”

And then she smelled it, felt it—the wind, the ozone, and the burst of light that signaled Barry’s arrival.

 

[ … ]

 

He didn’t bother knocking. The door wasn’t locked when he sped in and he found them in the kitchen. His eyes took them in before he slowed down. Iris was cupping Leonard’s cheek and both of them were staring into each other’s eyes and he tried not to read into it, pushing through the strange twisting and swooping in his stomach at their tableau.

She’d said she was going to push boundaries. Had she said something to hurt him?

“Iris?” He slowed down to ask it.

She let go of Len like her hand was burned, snatching it back and taking a step away from the other man. “Barry.” Her attempt at a smile was feeble and watery. It looked worried and now he _was_ worried, even more than before.

“Hey, what’s…?” He shot a look at Len and got no answer there, so he moved into her space and put his hands on her arms because her eyes were filling with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, quieted and clenched through her teeth and she threw herself into him then, hugging tight. He wrapped his arms around her automatically, looked helplessly at Leonard. The man looked like he’d swallowed a whole lemon.

“Why don’t I let you two—”

Iris’s arm snapped out to catch his sleeve. Barry had to tilt with it, she didn’t let him go but stretched so fast to reach. Len didn’t look surprised, just miserably down at her hand on his sleeve, keeping still. Barry had no idea what was going on, but felt himself tensing up anyway.

Iris took a breath and disentangled herself from him. She stayed in front of him, kept one hand on his arm and her other holding to Leonard’s sleeve, making him stand almost next to Barry, though his body was still angled toward the door. Barry’s eyes kept flicking between them, stomach twisting up in denial.

“I—I asked and you said—you gave me permission, and I had to know, I…”

He sucked in a breath. He could lightning in his veins, his heart was hammering in his chest, his ears. He was processing it faster than his brain could consciously form the thought. His brain didn’t _want_ to form the thought. Her asking if she could—her here with—

“I didn’t even think and I didn’t plan to and I didn’t mean to hurt you and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry if it does, I can’t believe I—I should have told you before but I didn’t know how and didn’t even know I wanted to until I was and I—”

His hands moved to cup her face and she stilled. He could feel her trembling. Barry closed his eyes for a moment because he couldn’t quite look at her, at either of them. She hadn’t let go of Snart’s sleeve and Snart was still there, still next to him and _how dare he_ —

“When.” His hands were soft where they were holding her face but his voice was hard and he wished he could make it sound softer but _Iris slept with Leonard_ —

He wasn’t prepared for how this was engulfing him.

“Just…now.” Her voice was the exact level of soft his wasn’t. It was apologetic and shy in a way she never was with him. He swallowed. His hands started to shake and he took them back from her skin, still not able to look at her. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t.” He drew in a breath because it came out too harsh, and tried again. “Please. Don’t… apologize. You had permission to do… whatever you needed to. If this was…” he swallowed. He didn’t know the name for what he felt but he knew it was beyond hypocritical. Knew he should look at her and comfort her but it was hard to even think and—

“It’s okay,” he rasped, not sure if he meant it. Iris’s hand tightened on his arm and he—his eyes landed on Leonard and Barry felt something hot twist inside him.

Her hand was on him too. She was still touching him and Barry’s eyes could’ve burned a hole in her hand, he was staring so hard at where she had it wrapped around his forearm. The man was standing right there, within reach, facing away and staring straight ahead but trapped at the end of Iris’s reach, letting her hold him there with that one point of contact. And then he looked at Leonard’s hand, clenched into a fist.

Those hands were touching Iris. When? Just now? When is ‘now’? Right before he came here? Did he—Barry needed specifics. He needed them _now_. Where did Leonard touch her? How? Did he finger her? Fuck her? Did they go that far? Did he hold her? Kiss her? Did she like it?

Did he taste her?

Barry shuddered. His brain was a fog of white hot feelings and he stepped away from Iris and toward Len, not even sure what he was going to do before doing it, taking him by the front of that damnable sweater and pressing him hard against the counter behind him. He did it at human speed but it wasn’t slow, wasn’t fast, just was. He hauled him forward and Len let him, let Barry pull him close and taught and press him hard against the closest surface at the same time and let him kiss him as hard as he’d ever kissed anyone in his life.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t like any kiss he’d ever had but his tongue was about as deep in Leonard’s mouth as it could possibly get and it felt heady as hell, like cotton balls up in his brain to match the static. He could feel it in the roots of his hair.

Underneath the whiskey, he could taste her. He couldn’t _stop_ tasting her. He licked every crevice of Len’s mouth he could, chasing that flavor and Len—Len kissed him back and held himself against the counter and felt flexible and pliant for every hard and angry line in Barry where their bodies were pressed too tight and warm together. Len didn’t even try to touch him.

Barry broke off the kiss. His breathing was ragged. When he opened his eyes, Len’s face was tilted back and his gaze on him careful and controlled. He was dark under the eyes.

“Okay?”

Barry exhaled something that might’ve been an affirmative but even he wasn’t sure. But he let Len go and took a single step back, away from his body heat. He needed to cool down. He wasn’t being anything close to levelheaded and he knew it. Knew Iris didn’t need to see that. Knew this reaction wasn’t fair, not to either of them. Knew he told her to, gave her permission to and—

“Barry…” Iris was staring at them, hand up to cover her mouth.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Both of them snorted in disbelief at the same time and unbelievably, that almost hurt more. It hurt in a way that made sense, that both of them were in sync and he was the odd man out.

 _Why did it have to be him_?

As if Barry was ever going to be able to think of anything but the two of them together again.

“Iris?”

“Mm?”

He swallowed. “Could you… can I talk to Leonard, for a sec?”

Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. After a second of hesitation, she stepped closer to him, to them, looking between them and then reaching out to squeeze Barry’s arm gently, making him look her in the eye.

“This was my fault, Barry. My choice.”

He nodded. She did too, and extricated herself from them, slipping out of the house quietly, closing the front door behind her. Barry exhaled slowly. He almost felt dizzy, it was so much to take in.

“How did this happen?”

There was still only a half foot of space between them and if Barry was aiming to intimidate, so sue him.

Len opened his mouth, and for a second he looked contrite. But then his eyes narrowed and his voice was cold and controlled when he responded. “Three guesses.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Len.”

“Don’t come in here with your macho jealousy, then, Barry.”

“ _Macho_? You slept with Iris!”

“Can you _blame_ me?”

“Really? _Really_!?”

“What would you’ve done?”

His jaw was hanging. Half because he was going to protest but—never in a million years would he turn her down. Not if she was serious about wanting it. Was she? Was—he tried not to picture it but couldn’t stop. Was it like he’d pictured it too many times before?

“It’s not like you didn’t know I was interested.”

Barry’s fists clenched. It was enough to make his ears burn and he wasn’t sure if it was in shame or embarrassment or something else. He knew Len was just goading him on but it was working. Knew he had no one but himself to blame but that wasn’t helpful either. All the times he’d whispered those fantasies to the other man, both of them getting off to it—

He moved back into Len’s space. The man’s eyes were hard on him, but he didn’t push Barry away, or really move at all. It wasn’t angry the way it was before, but it was charged, something pulling him closer. He crowded Len against the counter and pressed their bodies flush together.

“Tell me.”

Barry’s fingers found his belt-loops, pulling their bodies tighter. He could feel Len’s inhale. He rested his forehead against the other man’s, breathing his air.

“Hm?”

“Tell me how it happened.”

Len swallowed like he was unsticking his throat. He didn’t dodge the question this time. “Don’t hardly know. She came over to talk. It just happened. I wasn’t about to question it.”

Barry nodded just a little, just enough for Len to feel it. His hands moved up a little, feeling the muscles of his sides under those layers. Was this cruel?

“Did you know I gave her permission?”

He could feel Len’s breath against his cheek, his lips. “Yes.”

“Did you kiss her?”

“Yes.” It was soft. It didn’t need to be loud, but there was something raw and honest about it. Barry’s chest tightened.

“Her neck?”

“Yes.”

“Leave any hickeys?”

“I’m a gentleman.”

He could almost laugh but it wasn’t enough, and instead there was a wry twist to his mouth. “Did you like it?”

“What the hell do you want me to say?” It wasn’t angry—just… Barry didn’t know what. Honest. Defeated? It wasn’t fair but it made him push, meaner.

“Did you like it?” His voice was harder.

“Of course I fucking liked it. She’s Iris goddamn West.”

Barry could feel it then, himself getting hard. He knew Len would be able to feel it too. He couldn’t decide if this was healing or self-destructive which probably meant it was the latter. He couldn’t care. He felt the shift in the air as Len realized.

“Did you finger her?”

His voice was tighter, lower when he responded this time, “yes.”

“Fuck her?”

“ _Yes_.”

His cock was practically throbbing now, already. It was all he could do not to rock his hips into Len’s, not to grind against him. They were pressed so tight to each other.

“Where?”

“Here.”

“The bedroom?”

“The table.”

Jesus. His hands convulsed on the man’s sides. “Did you tell her—how I picture it?”

“Didn’t have to,” his voice sounded strangled. Barry’s breathing was heavy.

“Did she cum? When you got your tongue inside her?”

He could feel the other man shudder. “Screaming.”

Barry almost groaned. He leaned in so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from Len’s.

“I’m going to go home now. And I’m going to fuck her till the only word she remembers is my name. And if you _ever_ touch her again, you’ll do it with me watching.”

 

[ … ]

 

Barry didn’t really think until he was putting Iris back down in their kitchen. He’d swept her off her feet—literally—from the doorstop of Leonard’s safehouse and now he was home, hands on her waist, slowing down and registering the sound of her heightened breathing.

“Iris.”

She swallowed, seemed to get her feet under her, her hand immediately going to his face. He could only guess how he looked, staring down at her. “Barry. I’m so—”

“Don’t,” his voice was softer this time, cheek leaning into her palm. His heart was racing and his hands were shaking but he didn’t feel angry, not anymore. “I meant it. Don’t apologize.”

“I hurt you.”

He shook his head, then stopped. Maybe. He wasn’t even sure if he was hurt or what else he was. Conflicted, definitely. She went on,

“I should’ve told you before I…”

He looked to the ceiling, throwing himself a pity-party. He had no leg to stand on, here. “You asked. And I told you to.”

She bit her lip but nodded, just a little and his throat was tight but he did too.

“It helped?”

“Yes. Maybe? I don’t—know.”

He exhaled, moving in a little, crowding her just a bit toward the island at her back. “You liked it.”

It wasn’t a question and she swallowed loud enough for him to hear. Her eyes were wide and worried and that wasn’t right.

“I want—” he swallowed too. How was he supposed to make her understand? He moved his hands down her waist just a little, moved in a bit tighter. “He made you cum.”

“Barry…”

He exhaled, hands sliding down, pulling her into him by the hips and she gasped, hands on his chest suddenly digging in when she felt it.

“I want…” He felt her shiver against him.

“You’re not upset?”

Yes, he was upset. He was also so turned on it was hard to breathe, aching with the want to reclaim her skin, her pleasure. It burned in his throat.

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “But I want to—feel you. To know where he—where you _let_ him touch you. And to know…”

Her breath was as stuttered as his.

“The way you kissed him,” she whispered and he realized how close they were, he could feel her breath on the side of his face. “Like you wanted to own him.”

With how tightly they were pressed together now, and it was like the ghost of Leonard was pressed to him too. They each felt so different along his front, but, he knew she could feel how hard he was, how his hips twitched unconsciously remembering that kiss she witnessed. He shouldn’t have kissed Len like that. He couldn’t find it in him to regret it.

“Kiss me like that.”

For a second in time, he felt suspended. It wasn’t hesitation, but the moment of decision, of breaking down indecision. Then one hand was in her hair, right near the base so he could grab it tight, not pulling her away but pulling on the strands anyway, the way he only ever did when he was inside her and she needed that extra push over the edge. He was always soft with her but wasn’t now. She gasped and he took advantage of her open mouth.

He’d never kiss her like this except that right now he was. It was insistent, demanding, so hot he could feel it in his toes, like _this_ was its own fever. He spun them in the blink of an eye, pressed her back against the fridge and kept his hands on her, kissed her deeper than he thought possible when she made a noise in her throat at the movement, clutched to him. She wasn’t going anywhere, tight and hot against him, moaning as he licked into her mouth and held her there and he was so turned on it was hard to breathe but air didn’t seem the slightest bit necessarily when Iris was moaning like that.

He pulled back and rucked up her dress and she moved to help, hands on his belt but he took her wrists and pressed them back against the fridge and maybe it was too much but her eyes were lidded and she rocked her hips against his thigh where it was caught between both of hers. He took a moment to kiss her again, reveling in the way she scrapped her teeth against his bottom lip. He gave her wrists a squeeze and left them there, reaching down and her underwear were in the way. That little black thong he loved and _god_ did Leonard get to see her in this?

He grabbed at the fabric over her hip and tore it. It took almost no effort, it was such a thin scrap of lace, and he did the same to the over side. Iris was breathing hard and his mouth moved over to her neck. Len might not have left a hickey but Barry was beyond that level of restraint right now and Iris clutched his shoulders sudden and hard when he bit down and sucked. The keening noise was worth the mark he was going to leave on her. He undid his pants, getting them just far enough out the way before he lifted her, both hands on her ass as her legs snapped around his waist and—

He groaned into her neck. Fuck, she was so—“You’re so wet.”

She rolled her hips onto him, using his shoulders and the fridge as leverage after he stilled deep inside, savoring the feeling. It seemed she was having none of that, groaning maybe in frustration now.

“Barry—”

He shifted, pulling her back just a little from the fridge so only her shoulder blades and up were touching it, making her rest more weight on him. He held her up and her hands moved off his shoulders to behind her, reaching up to the top edge of the fridge to hold on. God, she was beautiful—hair everywhere, lips full and her teeth worrying her bottom one, eyes dark and lidded, holding herself up on his—

 _God_ —

He snapped his hips and she let out a whined, desperate sound.

He did it again, and again, driving deep with each thrust into her. It wasn’t lost on him that Len was here first, that she was still wet and open from him, because of him, that he could just hold her up and slide in because Len got on his knees and got her off and got her ready for him. It spurred him on, fucking her until the fridge was rocking and he couldn’t care less because Iris was shouting, moaning, and he was completely unable to tear his eyes off the way her face screwed up in ecstasy, her mouth dropped open, eyes closed tight as he got her drunk on sensation.

He was breathing heavy and his dick was absolutely throbbing, each thrust like fireworks behind his eyes she felt so good and hot around him, clenching tight because the angle and how deep he kept going. He was going fast and hard and holding her hips so tight it had to hurt but she called out his name like a prayer and god—that was heady.

He started to vibrate, couldn’t help it but the broken noise she made had him holding on just a little longer and he felt it, her spasming around him, walls clenching rhythmically as she screamed out her orgasm and that—his eyes rolled back, moment distilling to that sensation as he came inside of her.

He thrust a few extra times, stretching out the moment. They were both gasping in air and he was closer again, holder her more like a hug and her arms were wrapping around him. He sighed and felt relieved but wanted—

He pulled out and let her legs down. And then he slid down to his knees. She was still catching her breath and her eyes went wide, her hands on his shoulders still except he was on the ground.

“Honey?”

“Can I?” He hovered, waiting, and watched her shiver.

“I just came so hard I—” she swallowed and Barry noticed his cum sliding down her leg. “I don’t know if I can go again.”

His tapped his thumb lightly against her thigh, waiting, soothing. “I’ll build you up slow.”

Her fingers carded through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

He moved in to lick, starting at her inner thigh, and it was dirty in the way he loved it, licking up his own cum. He was always into that but now he was thinking about Len being there, about how it would taste if it wasn’t his own cum, if Barry had done this on the kitchen floor of Len’s safehouse right in front of him and—he shouldn’t be thinking like that but fuck, he was.

“Can—you use three fingers?”

Three? He shivered, slid his hand and mouth from her thigh to where she was asking for it. “However you want it.”

 

[ … ]

 

_We should probably talk._

Len stared at the text. It made his stomach flip. He had no idea how that conversation was going to go, not sure he even wanted to have it.

The past few days had been a rollercoaster and he wanted off the ride. From poisoning Barry to confessing things he never wanted to say out loud or expose to the light of day to tumbling head-first into Iris, to realizing just _how_ terrible that idea was, how messed up Barry was about it.

Looking at the man when Iris had told him, the way it had punched the air out of his lungs, the shock and twisted up expression—Len had worried for a stomach-dropping moment if he’d completely fucked up any chance they’d ever have of breaking this curse, doing that. Would Barry be able to love someone who hurt him like that?

But then Barry had kissed him and halfway grinded against him and whispered something about him watching and _Christ_ that hadn’t been what he’d expected. Len knew Barry would forgive Iris, and maybe—

 _You’re not Iris_ , the voice in his head reminded him, unhelpful. He wasn’t anything like her. She was—fuck she was beautiful. Courageous and bold and handling her shit so much better than either of them, at least until she tumbled into him too.

He still couldn’t really say why she had. Testing the waters? The competition? Jealousy twisting itself inside out? She had nothing to be jealous over, if that was the case. Barry loved her. She had him. They had each other. Len was just their interloper, stealing time, stealing kisses, until…

He’d decided not to think about that. The moment he’d know for sure that this stupid, frustrating feeling pulling him around on a leash was reciprocated, it was over. If it ever _was_ reciprocated, the series of constant betrayals Len lobbed his way interrupting that progress but that wasn’t a helpful thought either. None of his own twisted up feelings helped move this along.

_Guess so._

He typed it back before refocusing on the world around him. He was in a bar, the Roxy again (he really had to stop letting Lisa pick), playing pool with Mick and Lisa, both of them trying to distract him from his own mood.

_Where are you?_

It was a day 3. He’d said he’d see Barry on a day 3. Not that he’d expected to see Iris on a day 2. They were going to run his libido dry at the rate they were going (and didn’t that make him feel old). He wasn’t sure he was up to doing this—talking to Barry, sleeping with him, pretending like—

_I’m out with Mick and Lise._

_Can I swing by?_

Len’s eyebrows went up at that. He caught his companions grumbling about the fact that he was paying more attention to his phone than them.

 _I’m at the Roxy. Approach at your own peril_.

He turned his attention back to the game, but it was only a minute later that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He still wasn’t sure what it was that alerted him to Barry’s presence, if there was some shift in the atmosphere when he used his speed that could be felt on some unconscious level, but whatever it was, he wasn’t surprised to see Barry walking in the door a moment later.

He looked—good. He always did. Windswept hair somehow stylish, clothes that fit right without being tight, clean shaven as he ever was, never a blemish in sight. Len’s stomach did a habitual backflip that he’d learned to ignore as Barry caught sight of him and his expression morphed a little, almost like he was glad to see him.

Len glanced to the side, leaning his pool cue against the table while Barry made his way over.

“Hey.”

“You don’t have anything approaching a sense of self-preservation, do you?”

“Huh?”

Len nodded to where Lisa’s eyes were flicking between the two of them, obviously sorting out who Barry was. Barry’s eyebrows went up a little, doing that deer in the headlights thing that a speedster really shouldn’t have left in him, the ability to get caught off guard so easily.

“I mean—you didn’t tell her who I am yet?”

“Some of us keep our promises, Barry.”

Now she’d know his name too; she could thank him for that later. Barry hesitated like he was about to actually introduce himself to her properly and Len rolled his eyes and grabbed his arm. “C’mon. Mick, rack ‘em up for another game, hm?”

He pulled Barry through the throngs of people to a secluded booth next to the jukebox. He sat across from Barry.

“Well?”

There was a pause. Barry’s face grew more serious. “I… wanted to apologize—in person.”

It wasn’t what he was expecting. It must’ve shown on his face.

“Just—yesterday, the way I acted. I crossed a line.”

How long and deep was Barry’s guilt complex anyway? “Sure you’re not just here because you think I want you to be? It’s a day 3.”

But Barry shook his head. "I thought of that but no. I acted like a jackass and I know it, and want you to know I know it."

He tilted his head a little, studying Barry. “Can't say I blame you. I slept with your girl.”

He’d expected Barry to punch him over it, not apologize.

The other man drummed his knuckles against the table. "And I can't exactly blame _you_. She had permission and I... don't get to decide what you do."

“She was off limits.”

“As if, right?”

Len scoffed because Barry wasn't wrong. “So did you?”

“What?”

“Go home and rock her world?”

He probably wasn't supposed to ask, but Barry had disappeared in a trail of lightning and left him standing there halfway hard and all of the way messed up about it. Barry's face turned a little smug and he looked to the side, obviously trying to suppress something between a smirk and a smile.

“Y'know, I didn't know I was a jealous person till yesterday.”

“I could've told you that.”

Barry's eyebrows went up, and then he sighed, leaning forward a little in his seat. “Also realized what a hypocrite I am. I never should've kissed you like that.”

Len shrugged. “I don’t recall complaining about it.”

Barry hesitated, then leaned his elbows on the table, face tight. “There’s more to it, Leonard. I wasn’t just jealous over her. I—since this started, I've been acting like you're... not my boyfriend. But like you’re my _something_. Like I have a claim on you. And that wasn’t what you agreed to."

Len's chest felt tight. Barry was jealous over... him?

“If you're fishing for more love confessions, forget it. Spilling my guts once was enough.”

But Barry laughed, shaking his head and relaxing back into his seat. “No I... can I ask—other than me and... Iris. Has there been anyone else, since this started?”

Len tapped his fingers against the table. "No." He'd had the option with Angie, after his last bank heist, but couldn't muster anything approaching interest. He hadn't even thought of it since then. And Barry's face was too easy to read, light and relieved now and he tried not to feel—well, anything—about that. He hated how it made his heart beat a little faster anyway.

"Does this mean... can we put a boundary on it?"

He felt his face twitch. "You want me to be your boyfriend?" The urge to escape the booth was suddenly strong and pressing.

"Whatever you want to call it, just—monogamous."

Len's eyes narrowed. "And Iris?"

Barry swallowed, ducking his head a little. "I don’t know. You and me, I meant, but I guess that doesn’t work, with me and her. I don’t know how to—I don’t get to decide that, for either of you."

Len tilted his head. “Is this you giving me permission now?” It came out pretty deadpan, and even he wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious.

Barry didn’t answer immediately, staring at the jukebox for a minute. “How do you stand it?”

“What?”

“How you feel about me, but I'm with her?”

He tensed. Just like that, the tightness was back in his throat, the anger. “I don't.”

“But—”

“I don't have a choice. You're made for each other. You die if drop out of this. I don’t stand it, I barely put up with it. Or did you forget the part where I poisoned you?”

“I...” Barry's hand made an aborted movement toward him and dropped onto the table. “I wish we were alone right now.”

Len didn't. “My pals are waiting for me.”

“Len—”

He sighed and sat back instead of beating his hasty retreat from the conversation. It would be so easy, and Barry would leave, and he wouldn’t see him again until his brain was a mess of chemicals and he could get him to shut up. But it was hard to ignore the fact that he kept running from him, from them both. Barry's expression was as miserable as he felt.

“I'm trying. Can you—I want to make this as painless for you as I can.”

Len had to close his eyes for a minute to block out how that felt. He hated Barry some days. Mostly because he was so good, so generous. Wasn't even in love with Len and still wanted to shield him from his own damn heart. He should be focused on curing himself and instead here he was trying to comfort a man who'd walked eyes wide open into this shitshow and was selfish enough to keep taking from both of them at every turn he got.

“Then tell me what you need for me to—for you to get cured. Wha'do I have to do to make that happen? Faster is better.”

He could almost see Barry trying to unstick his throat. He actually looked shy when he spoke, a little haltingly. It was weird to see him hesitant. “If you're serious I... I feel in love with Iris when I was still a kid. It wasn't any specific thing, just who she was. I've been in love with two other people and it's been...” He scratched the back of his neck. “Both times they were funny, and genuine, and smart and brave. And it's not like you don't have all of that. And I care about you, and you know I'm attracted to you.”

Longing. That was the name of the stupid emotion he'd been trying to place for a while. That sort of pulling that made him ache and was, as far as he was convinced, the absolute worst feeling. But Barry kept talking.

“But I think you hit the nail on the head before? We barely talk except when I’m out of it or we’re at each other’s throats. I think if we acted more like a couple, or... we don't even cuddle after sex. We flirted more when we were enemies. Sex is part of this curse because it's supposed to be special to me but...”

All the walls he'd put up to keep himself halfway sane were going to crumble down. Len tasted ash in the back of his mouth. This was going to be hell. “Let's get out of here.”

He moved to go without looking behind him to see that Barry was following. He headed for the exit, nodding at Lisa and Mick on his way. Lisa just arched her eyebrow and Mick grunted in his direction. Barry dodged his heels across the parking lot to his bike.

"Care for a ride?"

He eyed it dubiously. "I can... jog."

Len snorted. "Get on. It won't kill you."

Barry obliged. Len suppressed the squirmy feeling in his stomach that wondered if it was the curse making him compliant or if he was just being agreeable when he slid behind Len and wrapped his arms around his waist. He knew what Barry was like on a day 2—mostly himself but maybe a little agreeable, more readily honest and open with him. Was that why that conversation had gone so smoothly, in the bar? He hated that he didn't know.

The drive back to his apartment was uneventful, at least, except that with each turn and acceleration he felt Barry's arms tighten around him and liked it decidedly too much. It was loss and relief when they arrived and they were off the bike. Barry followed him up dutifully, not commenting on the neighborhood or state of the building, not saying anything even on the stairs up till Len turned the key and invited him inside.

"We're not fucking, by the way."

Barry nodded carefully. He looked awkward in the space, always did when he wasn't all fire but this was different. He obviously wanted to ask, eyes darting everywhere at once taking it in, but quelled it with a simple, "Sure."

Len knew he could’ve taken him to the safehouse. It was easy, even ground for them. He knew he didn’t have to invite Barry in here, let him behind the walls, give him his real address and all the trappings that came with it.

But that was half the issue—right? People could feel it when you only gave them half of yourself, or even less. He told himself that was why he invited Barry here.

But that didn’t mean he had to let Barry poke around the small space, glance too long at the papers strewn about or make any comment on the piles of books in every corner. He dropped his jacket and went to the couch, taking residence in the corner seat, legs spread along the other cushions. He raised his eyebrows at Barry, who was glancing each way and hovering.

"I…Something tells me you don't want me to sit on your lap and I’m not sure what else you're looking for, here."

He really had to say it. "You wanted to cuddle."

That got his attention. Barry's eyebrows went up but then he was doffing his own jacket, setting it carefully next to Len’s. He spared one more glance around the quiet space before moving toward him, settling in gingerly, back to Len's chest and he made room between his legs for Barry to sit comfortably. After a moment, the other man relaxed a bit, finally, against him.

"So this is…where you live."

Len hummed. He was resisting the urge to wrap his arms around Barry and remembered that was exactly why they were here. He pushed himself to do it then. It made his throat feel raw and dry and he knew this would be so much easier if Barry was just a mark. Len could play nice and pretend and woo him just fine if he didn't give a damn about the outcome. But he did, and that made this too real to be a con, made him too vulnerable for it to be easy. He settled his forehead against Barry's shoulder and breathed down his back. He could hear Barry swallow next to his ear.

"Can I ask..."

"No. But you're going to anyway."

Barry chuckled a little. Len's lips quirked too, before Barry kept talking. "When was the last time you were in love? With someone else, I mean."

Obviously. Len closed his eyes, not that Barry could see it. How the hell was he supposed to answer that? "No, you can't ask."

He could almost feel Barry's disappointment. It grated. It was none of his business.

"I'm a... romantic gestures guy. I like it. Roses, flowers, running to a different city for the right type of ice cream, eating ghost peppers to prove I'm serious. Whatever it takes."

"You telling me to buy you some roses?"

Barry laughed. "No."

"Good. I'd just steal them 'n you'd be pissed."

Barry settled deeper into the embrace. "I'm saying I don't know what type of gesture would mean anything to you. I won't steal for you, not unless you..."

Made him. Yeah, Len remembered that too. "You've got it backward. I'm supposed to be wooing you."

"Fake it till you make it?"

Len thumped his forehead against Barry's shoulder. "Stop talking."

Barry laughed again. Len liked it, and let himself admit that. They sat there like that for a dozen minutes, just breathing. Len's hand settled over Barry's heart at a certain point. He was a survivor. When it came time to end this shit he'd be fine. Incredulous, mostly, that it was ever going to happen. But he'd managed to resign himself to the fact that even if Barry didn't love him, and shouldn't love him, the man was determined _to_ love him, and if Len stopped fucking it up it might happen sometime this century.

"How long?" Barry asked eventually.

"For what?"

"Have you felt this way?" His head must've been in the same place as Len's. His grip on the other man tightened reflexively.

"Too long."

"Before the curse started?"

"No. It was..." he cast about for the right word, "desire, then. Wanting you and having you made the affliction spread."

Barry snorted. "You talk about it like it's a..."

"Curse?"

He couldn't see Barry's face but he was sure he was wincing.

"It is. You should know."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Len curled himself tighter into Barry. This shit shouldn't hurt this much. This was why he'd never fallen in love before, what the hell kind of hurt and hassle it was. Who would put themselves through this on purpose?

"Promise me that when this is over... you leave me the hell alone."

 

[ ... ]

 

Barry left Len's apartment later than he’d expected. Part of him wanted to stay the night. It was something different, special, being allowed to see behind the curtain, being invited into the man’s home. He wanted to savor it, or at least cherish it. It was worn down and there were singe marks on the counter and an exorbitant amount of evidence of illegal activity and more books than he could count but it was… his. How much easier to fall for someone once you’d seen their hidden truths.

That and… he'd never shared a bed with the Len, not overnight, and was half-convinced it would help him fall. But most of him knew even suggesting it would be too cruel. All of this felt cruel now, in a way it hadn't before. He didn't love the man but Len—Len obviously loved him. He wasn't even sure how he'd missed it before, what with how far he was willing to go and how hard he held himself in check and how he crumbled every time Barry pushed him for more, willing (desperate?) to soak up the affection.

He did stop in the doorway though, and after a moment of hesitation, leaned in and kissed him. He could feel the fire licking at his veins, the fever reminding him that day 4 was just around the corner, that Len was right here, that touching him and sucking him and making him feel good would be so easy. He'd crumble like he always did. But the same heat also reminded him of what was good for Len, what Len wanted, which, much as Barry might burn up with desire, wasn't to sleep with him, not tonight. So he kept the kiss pg. It was deep, and heartfelt, but undemanding. Len's eyes were full of emotion when Barry stepped back and it pulled at his chest.

How the hell had he not fallen yet, when Len could tug at his heart with expressions like that?

"I'll see you soon."

"Be seeing you."

He went home then, out of Len's hair. Back home to Iris, who was up reading in bed, unsure how long he'd be. He folded himself half-around her the way Len had been folded around him.

"He showed me where he lives.”

“Oh. And?”

“And… he loves me. I—it’s really real. He really loves me."

"Yeah."

Barry shook his head against her back. "My heart hurts."

"Yeah. Mine too."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’know the problem with writing a single narrative and not like, fanfiction of your own fanfiction, is that you have to choose just one way to write a scene? I struggle with this often, having different ways the story can go, different versions of a scene in my head or even on the page and having to pick which one is best. The Saints and Sinners scene and its follow-through? There’s like four versions I wanted to happen simultaneously. One where their conversation carries on at the bar, one where Barry goes and plays pool with Lisa and Mick, one where Len and Barry actually go for a drive out of the city or somewhere else secluded and quiet and it’s romantic. The earlier version also had Len and Barry just at the regular safehouse but after chatting with a friend, we both felt this version was a bit better.
> 
> So yeah – it can be tough to decide what works best, what fits best, what shows the side of the characters you need to show now in the narrative. That’s one of the nice parts about writing though, I guess – that you get to curate that narrative. It may be going in a million directions in your head, but once you put it to the page, it’s fixed, and there’s a chronology, and you get to lead people through those emotions that you’ve carefully selected.
> 
> Anyway, I’m just hoping you’re all enjoying this as it unfolds. I know there was room for more conversation and exposition here (are we a v? a triangle? What’s going to happen now?) but the characters were all so raw still, and they’re sorting through those feelings.
> 
> Also, we’re so damn close to the end, friends!
> 
> I might – depending on how the last piece unfolds (remember each chapter is 8000+ words) add an extra bit. Maybe a sort of epilogue, if it feels incomplete without one. And you might be looking at the chapter count and asking yourself how the f this is going to resolve in the space left. I promise, I’ve put a lot of thought into the flow and follow through and will craft it as best I can with this version of the narrative that’s unfolded. But depending on how it gets put to page, there is the chance of an epilogue which, admittedly, would probably be at least 60% smut. We’ll see how it goes.
> 
> Anyway – end should come decently soon! Enjoy!!
> 
> PS – if you like my fandom stuff, come say hi on coldtomyflash.tumblr.com, and if you want to check out the beginnings of my forays into original writing (I’m a work in progress), come on over to phyn-writes.tumblr.com :)


End file.
